Harry Potter and the EvansSnapes
by hrhrionastar
Summary: AU: What if Lily and James survived? I know, not original--but this is the story of Lily Sunshine Evans--before and after the miraculous Potter survival extravaganza. Includes James, Severus, Harry, Sirius, Dumbledore, and everyone who matters!
1. Tangled Love Lives

**Author Notes**: After getting some reviews of my story _What Could Have Been_, I've decided to develop it into a full-fledged alternate universe story. It begins with what I consider canon, although some may disagree--it's Lily/Sev and Lily/James. It will become AU at approximately chapter 5. I'm hoping to tell the alternate history of Harry Potter--and his parents. Without further ado, chapter 1 of _Harry Potter and the Evans-Snapes_!

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**Tangled Love Lives**

James Potter was bored. He and his three best friends had just pulled off a truly magnificent prank on the Slytherins, but since they hadn't gotten caught, there was no Professor McGonagall lecture to attempt to evade, no detention to be deftly sidestepped, no admiring glances from his fellow Gryffindors on account of his daring (well, not _no_ such glances, perhaps—he _was_ still James Potter).

Normally, when he passed fiery, red-headed Evans in the hall, her exquisite beauty might briefly register with him, but then duty (in the form of his next truly magnificent prank, or Transfiguration books on Animagi) would call, and he would quickly forget about the beautiful Evans.

Not so today. There was nothing to do. And when he saw Evans, as they were queuing up for Charms class, he realized the time had come to grant her fondest wish. Ignoring Sirius's amused look, Pete's low-voiced encouragement, and Remus's eloquent eye-roll, he approached her.

"Hey, Evans!"

She turned, her Charms book in her arms, and her green eyes flashing dangerously. Belatedly, James realized she must still be mad about the Halloween Incident. Furthermore, she always hung around with greasy, Slytherin Snivellus, much to the confusion of her own Housemates.

"What?" she asked now in a long-suffering tone.

"Go out with me, Evans!" James said, as though no girl could refuse his kind invitation.

Lily sniffed. "I think I'll pass, thanks."

James couldn't believe his ears: "What?" he asked, flabbergasted.

"I _said_, I think I'll pass. Now find some other girl to bother, Potter."

"But, Evans!" exclaimed James. "I love you! My heart is at your feet! This isn't a casual intrigue!" As he spoke, he was startled to realize he was telling the truth. Lily Evans was the perfect woman.

Lily glared. "_No, thank you_. How many times do I have to say it before the message penetrates your thick head?"

"Evans! Come on, just go out with me! You know you want to…" James continued, lowering his voice suggestively.

Lily's glare became, if possible, icier. "You arrogant toerag, Potter! _Leave me alone_."

Before James could continue declaring his undying love, Professor Flitwick arrived and opened the door to the classroom. Lily swept past him with her nose in the air. James gazed at her as one entranced. Their classmates snickered behind their hands—no one wanted to offend popular James Potter, but quite a few of his classmates rather enjoyed seeing him taken down a wand or two.

Sirius patted him on the back consolingly, and Peter launched into a quiet diatribe against Lily Evans under cover of the noise of everyone settling into their seats. Remus simply ignored the situation, with the ease of long practice; opening his Charms book, he slumped slightly and fixed his eyes determinedly on the page. Although his friends seemed to feel that this humiliating scene had been rather in the nature of a setback, James knew that it was no such thing—quite the reverse. Although he would certainly have denied it, the fact remained that Evans's categoric refusal had only served to strengthen his fascination with her. Indeed, she _was_ the perfect woman.

James, thus undaunted by Lily's first refusal, had asked her out fifty-seven times by the end of the week. Any vestiges of politeness had quickly left her answers. Indeed, he no longer even had to say the words, at times: if Lily saw him coming, she simply said, "_No_, Potter."

Still, when James saw her talking to Snivellus, their heads bent so close together over a Potions book that Snape's greasy locks touched the fiery halo shot through with red and gold (a Gryffindor banner, almost) that was generally referred to as Lily's hair, he lost his temper.

"Hey, Snivellus!" he called insultingly. They both turned; Snape turned red with anger, and Lily rolled her eyes eloquently. James Summoned the Potions book, knowing this would infuriate Snape.

It did; Snape pulled out his wand, attempting to Summon it back, but James countered with a fast _Protego_.

He flipped the book open carelessly, and was momentarily surprised at the sharp, cramped writing in the margins. Needless to say, annotations weren't his thing. He peered closer, trying to discern the words. "Godric, Snape, your handwriting's terrible," he said absently, squinting.

The attack, when it came, took him by surprise. One minute he was trying to make out what he was pretty sure were some sort of alternate instructions under Wit-Sharpening Potion, the next he was dangling upside down by his left ankle. He managed to keep a grip on his wand, but the book fell from his hands to the floor. Snape darted over and grabbed it, shoving it into his bag. James stared at him—had Snape dared—actually _dared_—to use James and Sirius's favorite spell, _Levicorpus_, on _him_? There seemed no other explanation—until he peered around into the angry face of Lily Evans, her wand pointed directly at his heart. She gave him a sarcastic smile, and flicked her wand. He fell to the floor with a clatter, and got up clumsily.

Lily sank gracefully back into her seat, pulling a long sheet of parchment covered in tiny script toward her. She tossed her hair absently to prevent a long red tendril from landing in the inkwell, and spoke as if she'd dismissed the incident.

"So, anyway, Sev, I don't see why you have to grind the scarab beetles with a mortar and pestle; surely crushing them with the flat of a knife would be just as effective—and far less time-consuming. "

Snape glanced smugly at James before bending close to answer Lily. "That _does_ work, but it changes the composition slightly, resulting in a rather unpleasant side-effect…"

James seethed with rage. Quite irrationally, he blamed this latest humiliation on Snape. What was he doing having such execrable handwriting, anyway? And what sort of bizarre magic made Lily support Snape to such a degree that she would actually hex _him_, James Potter, the love of her life (though she didn't know it yet)? His rage and indignation over this episode exercised his mind to such an extent that he quite failed to Transfigure his hedgehog into a pincushion, and Professor McGonagall assigned him extra homework. This not unnaturally raised his anger to fever pitch, since, as Sirius remarked, he _was _rather known for being a genius at Transfiguration, and they _were_ nearly ready to start turning themselves into animals at will.

Consequently, when he next saw Snape, he was betrayed into a somewhat premature statement.

"Listen, _Snivellus_," James said snidely after dinner, cornering Snape in the Entrance Hall (momentarily somewhat deserted), "don't you dare use Lily as some kind of shield—too much of a coward to face me on your own?"

"Whereas you just need three mates at your back before you'll fight, Potter," Snape spat, scowling.

James thought about making a sharp answer to this, but could find no logical argument to refute it. So he fell back upon an old Muggle classic (he and Sirius were quite fond of the Muggle comic the _X-Men_). "Just stay away from my girl, Snape," he said aggressively.

Snape's reaction was…not what he had expected. He stared at James in blank astonishment for a moment, then spoke. "Your girl?" he was angry and incredulous. "_Your girl_?"

James frowned. The rage he had expected—he had known Snape for his rival for years now—even before he knew he loved Lily. But surely this blank shock was going a little far…?

"Potter," Snape said dangerously (and yet with the faintest hint of laughter in his voice), "Lily will _never_ be your girl." And, with a swirling of robes, he was gone before James could hex him. Furious—James might be used to Evans making him look and feel like a fool, but to have _Snape_ do so was going too far—James stomped off to the Gryffindor common room. Maybe he could get a little sympathy from his friends.

Not long after that, certain portions of the Slytherin benches in the Great Hall were transmuted—they continued to appear solid, but those people sitting upon them found themselves falling ignominiously to the floor. Needless to say, Professor Slughorn was not pleased.


	2. Expect the Unexpected

**Expect the Unexpected**

October 5, 1987 began normally enough for James Potter. He awoke to the sound of Peter's alarmum clock (or whatever he called it; it was enchanted to make an evilly persistent ringing noise), grabbed his glasses, and surveyed his bag gloomily. It was filled with biting teacups from Zonko's, deluxe sugar quills, and a truly catastrophic pile of undone homework. In years past, the sight of his Potions textbook, Transfiguration notes, and barely started stained Charms homework would have given James hardly more than a brief qualm, and the reassuring thought that Moony would fix it. Now, as a seventh year, he knew it behooved him to behave responsibly (whatever his friends said about his newfound sense of duty owing to a certain redhead). Guilt rose in him, along with a healthy dash of fear and dread.

To cap it all off, Sirius, who had moaned unintelligibly at the sound of Pete's alarmum device, had somehow managed to snag the shower first. James groaned, and pulled his Potions book toward him fatalistically. Pete hit the alarmum clock with his wand, and it ceased its infernal racket. Moony yawned hugely, sitting up. He glanced ruefully at the direction in which Sirius had gone.

"He's going to use all the hot water again," Remus prophesied. James nodded glumly. He loved Sirius like a brother, but never had he met such a bathroom hog. Fabian Prewett rolled over, snoring.

"Should we wake him?" asked Pete.

"Nah," James decided. "Give him a few more minutes, poor bloke."

James made no progress on his Potions essay before Sirius finally emerged from the bathroom; he beat Remus to the shower, but it turned out not to be worth it, since all the hot water was already gone; at breakfast, he managed to embarrass himself by staring dumbstruck at the beautiful Evans while his fork was midway between his plate and his mouth; and he muffed a question in Potions because Pete kept breathing down his neck, moaning about the ever-approaching N.E.W.T., and how was Pete ever going to pass, he needed Potions to be a Healer, etcetera. Evans smiled at him slightly as they went into Charms (he saw Severus Snape scowl) and he was so surprised he forgot to look where he was going and hit a suit of armor.

"Ow! Watch where you're going, whippersnapper!" it said irritably.

"Nice going, mate," chuckled Padfoot.

But the really surprising thing didn't happen until just after lunch. James approached Evans, amid rolling eyeballs and quiet jeers from his dear friends, and asked his usual question:

"Go out with me, Evans?"

Evans turned, looking him up and down with her hands on her hips. So far, so normal. The surprising part came when she spoke:

"Okay." There was a collective gasp from all those present at the Gryffindor table. Professor McGonagall glanced over at her House, frowning. "Let's say, next Hogsmeade weekend? Three Broomsticks, you're buying." Lily smiled at the gobsmacked expression on James's face. "You better not back out now, Potter; didn't expect me to take you up on the offer, did you?"

James found his voice. "Of course I—" he began indignantly.

"That's settled, then," she overrode him, and strode off to Defense Against the Dark Arts, her red hair bouncing triumphantly behind her.

James stared after her, amazed and overjoyed. "Is this really happening?" he asked his best friends on Earth. They beamed back at him.

"It was only a matter of time until she succumbed to your charms, Prongs," congratulated Sirius. "Especially now that Snivellus is out of the way."

James frowned slightly at this mention of his worst enemy (barring Arithmancy and Voldemort, anyway), but nothing could sink his spirits now.

The date went well—Lily steered him to a secluded table, and kicked him gently when Madam Rosmerta asked what they wanted. She asked him about his family, and told him she always wished her own family understood about magic; he eagerly told her he didn't mind about her being Muggle-born—thought it just emphasized her marvelous specialness, actually.

"That's sweet, Potter," she said.

"So, what are your plans—you know, after Hogwarts?" he asked, for lack of a more imaginative query.

A shadow crossed her face. "Well, people reckon a war's coming. I guess I always wanted to be a Magical Law Consultant; Se—someone says I'm argumentative enough, anyways. Of course, I don't know if the Ministry would hire me, seeing as how I'm a _Mudblood_, but—" she saw that James was frowning at her. "But that's not important," she said brightly. "What about _you_?"

And thus it went for the rest of the date. And the next one, and the one after that…Lily seemed bright and cheerful, but whenever James even got close to asking her a personal question, she deftly deflected it with flattering questions about him. Also, she frequently bit back the name of her_ former_ best friend from her lips, and she bossed him unmercifully. At first, James didn't mind; the mere fact that he was dating _Lily Evans, at last_, filled him with such joy that he was sure he wouldn't need a Patronus to repell Dementors. At the same time, he was far too off-balance to indulge in his usual pranks—a fact which shocked and appalled his friends, shocked and gratified his teachers, and shocked and stunned his admirers.

The news that James Potter and Lily Evans were a couple was met without undue surprise at Hogwarts. His mates claimed it was only natural that she'd succumbed to his charms; _took pity on him, more like_, said the Ravenclaws. _How romantic!_ cried the Hufflepuffs. _A Mudblood and a blood traitor—what do you expect?_ sneered the Slytherins. _Ah, love_, smiled the Headmaster. _Why me?!_ moaned Severus Snape in secret. _It's a miracle!_ rejoiced James in public and at all hours. Only Lily Evans remained silent on the subject.

Contrary to popular opinion, James and Lily's first kiss wasn't until Valentine's Day of seventh year. James had signified his willingness to be caught in a broom closet in a compromising position with Lily Evans to more than one person over the years, but how that had translated into certain quite appalling (and fascinating) rumors he was at a loss to fathom.

He found Lily crying over her Valentines. Bewildered, he asked what was the matter. It looked like she'd received her customary haul—a dozen red roses from him, a tasteful white lily with a card signed Sirius, Peter, and Remus (but which owed its good taste entirely to Remus), chocolates from Jack Cyrries, Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, and friendship cards from Alice, Marlene and Mary.

Rather than explain, Lily raised her tearstained (yet still stunningly beautiful) face to his and demanded, "Tell me you love me."

"I love you," said James, bewildered but obliging. "Your beauty is like a thousand fiery suns, or a Snitch just before you catch it, or the glory of a hundred successful pranks—" he would have continued, but she effectively distracted him—she grabbed his shoulders, pulling him toward her, and kissed him.

It was glory, sweet oblivion, better than Firewhiskey—Lily in his arms, he'd dreamed of this moment for years.

"Well?" she asked. "Is this how you imagined it?"

James thought for a moment. "No," he said honestly.

"Good."

It was only much later, when describing the kiss to his mates (so he told them everything—they were the best friends a man could have) that it occurred to him—she hadn't said she loved him back.

"Oh, well," said Sirius comfortably. "All good things in time, eh? You still snogged."

He asked her to marry him two months after the end of their seventh year. She considered him for a long moment, and he could have sworn she looked like she was going to say no. But then something shifted in her expression; she smiled at him with determined force. "Yes. James Potter, I will marry you," she said with conviction.

He gave her the ring a few days later—the same day they both officially joined the Order of the Phoenix. She smiled, and showed it around—Alice and Marlene oohed and aahed appropriately, Arthur Weasley gave him some excellent marriage advice nary a word of which did he listen to, and he asked Sirius to be his best man. Peter didn't seem terribly excited for him, somehow, but James assumed he was moping because Alice and Frank were making googly eyes at each other.

Dumbledore officially welcomed them and swore them to secrecy, and as James toasted Lily, raising his glass of Firewhiskey and grinning like a maniac, he had no fears, and no regrets.


	3. Sunshine

**Author Notes**: So, here's Chapter Three--I should warn you, if you don't think Lily ever loved Sev as more than a friend, beware. Also, although I posited that this story would turn AU during chapter five (no, I _don't_ consider Lily/Sev AU) in fact, it won't do so until chapter 8. Stick with it--many characters, with different points of view, will appear. Mostly, it's a Lily story, though. Read and Review!

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**Sunshine**

The morning of the wedding was beautiful. The sun shone, birds chirped, and all in all it was simply much too warm for early March. Mr. and Mrs. Evans were ecstatic.

"This is perfect," cooed Mrs. Evans.

"Even the weather knows it better be the best for our little girl," agreed Mr. Evans heartily. He winced slightly as he got up to call to Lily. Mrs. Evans glanced over at him sharply, but he smiled reassuringly.

"Where's our little Sunshine?" he called loudly up the stairs. "Rise and shine, little Lily-flower!"

In a corner of the kitchen, Petunia Evans scowled. Her own wedding was a little over a month away. How _like _Lily: the evening she brought Vernon home to dinner, and they were just about ready to tell her folks the good news—in waltzed Lily, arm in arm with an arrogant, laughing man with black hair and glasses who her parents loved. "We're getting married!" Lily had explained, taking her older sister's words right out of her mouth. Strange, thought Petunia—she was the eldest, yet somehow, Lily did everything first—first A+ on a test, first sleepover, first boyfriend, first kiss, first Christmas away from home, first wedding—and first in her parents' affections. Lily Sunshine Evans—everyone's darling. Even when they found out the little brat was a witch, Brett and Mary Evans loved her more. It just wasn't _fair. _

Lily Sunshine Evans woke with a splitting headache. She Summoned her coffee from downstairs (Petunia glared at it in passing) and sat in bed, feeling wan and weak, and drinking atrocious instant coffee. Honestly, it was her wedding day—her mother couldn't have brewed the good stuff? She scowled at her reflection in the mirror when she went to get dressed. This would never work. Her parents still didn't realize the danger they were in, having a Muggle-born witch in the Order of the Phoenix as their daughter. They'd insisted on having her wedding _properly_ (the Muggle way) in a church, with a real minister and none of that fanciful waving of hands magic stuff—"it's all very well in general, dearest, but marriage is for _real_," her mother had said. She shuddered at what James's friends might say to Petunia—Sirius, in particular, would never learn to leave well enough alone.

The truth, Lily reflected bitterly, was that she was surrounded by well-meaning but clueless people who had no idea what she was feeling: her parents, Petunia (maybe not so well-meaning), Alice, Marlene, Mary, the Weasleys, everyone else in the Order, Dumbledore, Remus, Sirius, Peter, and most of all, James. She glanced at the miscellaneous contents of her wardrobe and shuddered. Throwing on a robe, she Apparated to her maid-of-honor's kitchen.

"Lily!" Alice said in surprise. "Ever think of knocking? My front step is an excellent place to Apparate. I thought we weren't meeting until later. You all right? You look a little…around the eyes…" Alice trailed off delicately.

Lily dismissed the question of proper Apparition-etiquette with a wave of her hand, and sank into a chair. "Alice?" she demanded. "Why have you never told me?"

"Told you what?" asked Alice airily. There was a faint noise from the bedroom, and Alice's eyes darted toward it guiltily.

"Told me that I'm certifiably insane," moaned Lily. "I mean, you've known me for what, eight years? I wouldn't expect Marlene to tell me—she's not all there herself, between you and me—talked my ear off about portents of doom in the cereal last time I saw her—and Mary is just mean-spirited enough to enjoy keeping me in ignorance of what everyone else must know by now, but you—! My whole dependence has been upon you in this time of woe and wedding planning! Alice! What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing, Lily," said Alice, glancing nervously toward the bedroom again. "Everyone has wedding jitters."

"No, no," said Lily impatiently. "Listen: I'm a clueless nineteen-year-old living in war-torn, Wizarding Britain. By virtue of my birth, I'm hunted down by our current anti-democracy-mongers, and I belong to an illegal (or at any rate, frowned upon) vigilante group whose mission is to bring down those elite, murdering fiends. I couldn't stay out of trouble if I _wanted_ to."

"Yeah, well, me too," muttered Alice. "We Gryffindors aren't famed for our common sense."

"Yes, but you're not a _Mudblood_."

"Still sore about that? You know no one who counts even cares."

Lily scowled. She heroically refrained from mentioning that special person who _did_ care, on the grounds that Alice wouldn't understand. She tried a different tack, instead. "James isn't even nineteen yet, you know. And it's no use expecting him to have any more idea how to hold household, or be married, than I do. In fact, he'll probably have less. And, I must be an idiot because I'm signing on to cook for those friends of his for the rest of my life."

"Horrors!" said Alice theatrically, putting a hand over her heart. "You'll poison them with your cooking!"

"And James will never forgive me. We'll be the cautionary tale of the Wizarding world," agreed Lily, her eyes twinkling. "So? Tell me, what's crazier than two kids just out of Hogwarts and knee-deep in Death Eater duels setting up housekeeping?"

"How about two Aurors shacking up?" asked a deep voice. Surprised, Lily turned toward Alice's bedroom. Framed in the doorway stood tall, athletic Frank Longbottom, wearing a dressing gown. Lily's startled gaze shot from him to Alice (blushing fiercely) and back again; then she nodded cordially.

"Good morning, Frank. I hope you don't mind my ranting."

"Not at all, Lily. Happy zeroth wedding anniversary." Lily scowled.

"I'll make toast," said Alice, still embarrassed, but sounding relieved.

"I'll get out of your way—we're meeting at noon to tame my hair into submission, though, right, Alice?" Lily rose gracefully. She nodded to Frank. At the doorway, she looked back, grinning mischievously. "So, Frank, when you say, 'shacking up,' do you mean a serious offer of cohabitation and marital bliss? 'Cause if not, you and I are going to have a talk about your treatment of my maid-of-honor."

"I'm shaking in my shoes," said Frank.

Lily grinned innocently. "You should be, Frank. You should be." She was gone on the words, but not so fast as too miss Alice's shy, "Frank?"

Lily smiled—Frank and Alice had cheered her. But it wasn't long before she remembered her own troubles, and, without thinking, she found herself at the Three Broomsticks.

"What'll you have, dearie?" Rosmerta asked brightly.

"Butterbeer, I guess. And—could I have some advice with that?"

"Sure thing. Shoot."

"Well—what would you do if you realized you're marrying the wrong man?"

"Wedding jitters, huh? They say we all get 'em."

"No, this is different. Just supposing, you loved this one guy your whole life, ever since you were nine—we'll call him Sam. And you both were really good friends—_best _friends—but then he fell into the wrong crowd, and his friends started hurting your friends, and you knew you had to do something, but you couldn't think how to get Sev—Sam away from those dreadful people, and then one day he called you a horrible name and you realized there was nothing for it, he cared more for the Dark Arts than he ever would for you, and you told him it was over. And then you felt so alone, and this other guy—we'll call him Jason—had been singing your praises for absolute ages, begging you to go out with him, and he just happened to be a pretty serious enemy of Sam's, so you ended up seeing him, and maybe you flaunted those ridiculous gifts he always gives you in front of your old best friend, and maybe you were partly going out with him to make Sam jealous—and then, one day, he proposed, and you thought, maybe at last you could have something pure, perfect, something that wasn't tainted by Dark magic and inter-House rivalry, so you said yes, and your parents planned the wedding, and now today's the day, and you have no idea if you can even make it work with Jason, and you miss Sam so much it's like your heart will break, and do you think it's possible to love two men simultaneously?"

Lily paused at last, anxiously searching Rosmerta's face.

"Well, dearie," Rosmerta said thoughtfully. "I'm thinking it sure is possible to love two men at once, but I'm also thinking there ain't no such thing as a perfect relationship. Maybe you oughta talk this out with your young man, James—Jason. After all, you seem to have had your reasons for rejecting this Sam character, and it wouldn't be good to start things up with him again just on account of wedding jitters. You'll feel better once today's over with, I expect. Although—aren't you a little young to be married?"

"That's what I keep saying," said Lily tiredly, rising from her stool at the bar after only a sip of the Butterbeer. She pushed some gold at Rosmerta, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Thanks."

Rosmerta shrugged, taking the gold. "There are some things you can only tell a stranger. You take care now, you hear?"

Lily nodded, and left.

Wedding preparations are not known for their brevity. Once she'd been washed, dried, her hair twisted and curled, her nails painted, her legs shaved, her face made up, and her corset laces tightened, Lily felt like a walking, talking, painted doll. She hadn't eaten much all day, and was briefly entertained by the mental image of her fainting just as they got to the vows. She felt rather guilty, too—she hadn't said anything more to Alice, and nothing at all to Marlene, Mary, or Petunia (who grudgingly had proffered her help in getting her little sister ready), but all day, try as she might to focus her conscious thoughts on the man she was about to marry, her unruly heart and recalcitrant mind insisted upon dwelling quite shockingly on a certain dark-haired, dark-eyed, sexy, snarky Slytherin who she'd long since lost.

She couldn't help wondering if she'd been just a little more patient, if Sev had been just a little less vulnerable to those Death Eaters-in-Training vultures, if she'd told him how she felt before he insulted her heritage—would things have been different? Would her parents be walking her down the aisle to a very different bridegroom? Try as she might, she couldn't get the glowy pictures of what might have been out her mind. She sighed, "Oh, Sev…" softly and wistfully, but what was cut off abruptly and painfully as Alice expertly tightened her laces.

_I must be an unnatural bride_, Lily sighed as she walked down the aisle toward James Potter, who was beaming at her as though he really believed she was the love of his life. She was _still_ thinking of Sev.

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The morning of the wedding was beautiful. Severus Snape awoke with a splitting headache. He groaned at the sight of several empty firewhiskey bottles strewn haphazardly around his room. The sun shone brightly upon the faded carpet and curtains, and he was thus able to see clearly the dent in his wardrobe and the newest wicked-looking crack in the wall, which bore mute testimony to the sort of mood he had been in the previous night. His mother would have been furious with him, if she were still in a state to care about such things.

This thought reminded him of his responsibilities, and he reluctantly got up, pulling on a set of black robes and closing the curtains with a wave of his wand. He supposed he ought to be thankful for small blessings—at least it was _quiet_.

He made breakfast, but couldn't face more than a cup of scaldingly hot coffee himself. He took up a tray to his mother's room. She hadn't left it in years—ever since his father's funeral.

"How are you today, Mum?" he asked softly.

She turned to look at him, her eyes blank and without recognition. "Here's your breakfast, Mum," he said, setting it down carefully.

She stared at him without interest, without hope. He smiled—or, more accurately, bared his teeth in an attempt at a smile—and left her. She never spoke, and she'd given up magic. He didn't understand how she could miss Tobias Snape so much—a violent, abusive drunkard who couldn't stand that his wife was a witch.

Severus swung down the stairs, past his mother's crowded bookshelves (relicts of a happier, or at least more active, time) and started toward his Potions laboratory. He stopped mid-stride, however, at the sight of the innocent, gilt-edged invitation lying on the table in the hall. Once he'd opened it, he couldn't bear to actually take it somewhere, put it away—that would make in more real. In flowing script too perfect to be handwritten, it said:

_Mr. and Mrs. Jason Brett Evans_

 _request the honor of your presence_

 _at the marriage of their daughter _

_Lily Sunshine _

_and _

_Mr. James Ferdinand Potter_

_Monday, March 5_

_Nineteen Seventy-Nine _

_at six o'clock in the evening_

 _Presbyterian Church_

 _Little Whinging, Surrey_

Severus's blood still boiled whenever he looked down upon those cheerful words—they dug a hole in his heart deep enough that even the Dark Lord cringed away from Severus's mind. He supposed he ought to be grateful for this quite accidental benefit—due to the grief, anger, love, hate and guilt burning through every fiber of his being, his Occlumency had improved by leaps and bounds.

He thought he must be crazy—it wasn't like he'd ever had a chance with the Incomparable Lily; a childhood friend who'd run amok, that was all he ever was to her. Maybe if they'd never met, she wouldn't have made such a show of hating Potter—after all, it hadn't been enough, in the end—she'd chosen Potter over him. And yet the dispassionate part of his mind knew she hadn't chosen _Potter_ over him—in a way, she'd chosen _Dumbledore_ over him. She'd chosen the life of a hero—defending the world against his ilk. She would never know how much he hated his life. If he could keep her safe by dying, he thought, he would do it gladly.

She couldn't know how much he missed her, could she? Why had she sent him this invitation—they hadn't spoken in four years, but who else could it have been? Severus tried to picture Potter's gloating face bending over the letter, but Potter—however much of an arrogant, bullying toerag he still was—had never been precisely vindictive. Black, on the other hand…

But if not Potter, only Lily could have sent the invitation. Was she trying to torture him? Or had she simply sent it as a nod to their long friendship? Severus backed away from the cheery, golden invitation—another symbol of how infinitely far above him Lily was. That bitch, twisting the knife like this—she must hate him. By Salazar, how he missed her.

Severus survived the last few hours before Lily became Mrs. Potter—though he was never sure exactly how. He spent much of the day in his Potions lab, half-hoping he would accidentally poison himself, but no such luck.

Six o'clock found him outside the church, pulled there in spite of his best efforts. He stood in the shadows, miserable and angry, watching last-minute guests hurry inside, laughing and chattering excitedly. Torrential, cold rain would have suited his mood, but the sky remained obstinately clear and beautiful.

As Lily glided down the aisle on her father's arm, Severus stood in the doorway of the church, watching everything he wanted in this life recede from him. He felt drained and weak, like he was immersed in some gray fog. Lily was the only color in a gray world, and at that moment, he knew the rest of his life would be defined by shades of gray.

And then she reached the altar—and turned her head slightly, and her eyes caught his. They were the only two people in the world. And they had no need for words. Louder than if she were shouting, Severus felt Lily say, "This is what you deserve. After what you've done. I wanted you to see that. You've chosen your path, and I've chosen mine. Evil—that's what you chose. I hope you live to regret it."

Desperate, Severus heard the minister's words from far away. "Do you, James Ferdinand Potter, take this woman…?" He had no idea what his own eyes were saying.

"And do you, Lily Sunshine Evans, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, from this day forward until death do you part?"

And she shot Severus one last scathing look, turned, and said, rather defiantly, "I do."

Several hours later, Severus was well on his way to drowning his sorrows in a corner of the Three Broomsticks. Although he suspected they were too deep for even alcohol to assuage them, the drink made the ache temporarily bearable.

Suddenly, pain shot through his left arm. He winced, rose somewhat unsteadily, and Apparated out of the bar to meet his terrible fate. A flicker of smoke rose from his empty glass of firewhiskey, and then was gone.


	4. Lunch at the Potters'

**Author Note**: Chapter 4 is here! Again, this story will turn AU during chapter 8! Until then, I consider it canon. Happy reading!

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**Lunch at the Potters'**

"So Sirius reckons we can get the cake from Honeydukes—you're off the hook for making it," James Potter told his wife encouragingly. "Want some lunch?"

"Yeah, I'm starving," said Lily, peering into the cupboards avidly. James pulled out some bread and chicken to make sandwiches, and Lily started pouring the juice. Suddenly, she dropped everything and hurried toward the bathroom. James stared after her in bewilderment.

"Lily? Sweetheart? Light of my life? Don't you want some lunch?"

"I'm not hungry," Lily called back. Understandably confused, James followed the sound of her voice.

"Lily! Lily? Lil—Oh, my Godric!" he exclaimed, checking on the threshold of the bathroom. Lily's red head was bent over the toilet. James involuntarily stepped backward, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "Are you—that is…?" he inquired hesitantly, wondering if whatever Lily had was serious enough for St. Mungo's, and if this was going to mean they couldn't make it to Alice's birthday party.

Lily sat back slightly in order to look at James, wiping her mouth. Her hair was tangled with sweat, and her face was pale. James gulped.

Lily looked at him straightly, glaring. "I'm pregnant, James."

"Not sick? Good, we can—wait, _what_? _Pregnant_?" James's shock was blatantly apparent.

Lily rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you're so surprised; you—" the rest of her sentence was cut off as she bent toward the toilet again. James stared. She turned toward him again. "You are okay with it, right? I want to name the baby Eileen if it's a girl, and Harry if it's a boy."

"How long have you known?" James asked. His face was now paler than Lily's.

"I only found out for sure this morning."

"Are you sure having a baby makes sense—I mean, in these troubled times, it just seems like we should have been more careful—" whined James.

"I'm sure you'll make a wonderful father, James," Lily said indulgently. "In fact—ugh!" She bent over the toilet again, heaving.

James retreated as far as possible, to the door. There he hovered nervously, looking slightly green.

Lily turned back toward him again, glaring. "Well?" she said sharply. "Aren't you going to make me an anti-nausea potion?"

James looked blank.

Lily sighed long-sufferingly. "Or at least hold my hair?" she said pointedly.

James approached tentatively. Then he shuddered, muttered, "OK, see you later, honey," and ran away. Lily frowned.

When she was reasonably sure her bout of morning sickness had passed, Lily did what she could to raise her appearance once more to the level of incomparable beauty her family, friends and acquaintances had come to expect, and went to find James. He was in their living room, curled up with _Quidditch Through the Ages_ (which he appeared to find incredibly engrossing). She made a small disapproving sound, her hands on her hips.

James sighed, closed his book, and looked up inquiringly.

"I'm angry with you for being so squeamish about my morning sickness," Lily informed him magnanimously.

James gestured fatalistically. Unable to refute the charge of squeamishness (especially unbecoming in a _Marauder_), he took refuge in evasions. "Well, okay—but you're still my girl, right?"

Lily had sunk down on the couch beside him, one hand to her head, but at this she turned to him so fast her fiery hair swung and a tendril of it hit James's chest. "_What_?" she asked disbelievingly.

James raised his eyebrows, preferring not to commit himself to any more potentially dangerous comments.

"Your girl? _Your girl?_ James! Of all the sexist, arrogant, ridiculous things to say! As though I'm what, like your property? How _dare_ you, James Potter?!"

James moved uncomfortably. "It was meant affectionately," he said placatingly.

"Affectionately! Hmmph." Lily glowered, but leaned her head against James's shoulder—it made an inviting prop. "Sexist, patriarchal propaganda," she complained scathingly.

James cleared his throat, looking for a non-combative change of topic (if such a thing existed). "So…how about Harry James Potter?" he asked, putting his hand gently over her stomach. She sighed, then reached out and covered his hand with her own. Their eyes met; she smiled tiredly, and he grinned tentatively back. Parenthood…how hard could it be?


	5. A Mother's Love

**A Mother's Love**

Early the morning of August 1, 1980, Lily Sunshine Evans Potter looked down with tired affection at the dark black hair of her infant son. Her labor had been long, but already it seemed a distant dream—or nightmare. At least St. Mungo's understood about pain-reducing potions; it was more than could be said for her fellow members of the Order.

This thought inevitably led to others—less cheerful. The war was not going well. Lily felt in her bones that there was a solution, but she was no closer to finding it than anyone else. She trusted Dumbledore, but it would be folly to place her whole dependence on him to steer them out of this mess. Voldemort grew stronger daily, and the Death Eaters ever more confident. Not for the first time, cold, paralyzing fear went through her. How could she protect her loved ones? This tiny, innocent life depended on her now (and had for nine months). For the first time, she was truly more afraid for another than for herself. She shivered, though the hospital room was quite warm, drawing Harry's sleeping head closer to her, and noting the location of her wand.

In spite of her natural exhaustion, Lily barely slept that night. James found her hovering over their infant son and clutching her wand, her hair a mess and her eyes wild, as the sun rose.

"Sweetheart, my brave Lily," he said at once, bending over her and smoothing her hair. "It's alright—" he began.

"James," Lily interrupted him sharply. "You know I love you, right?" Her eyes were too large in her face as they fixed upon his.

James bent over Harry, so she couldn't see his face. "Sweetheart," he murmured reassuringly (although to her or to the still sweetly sleeping baby she couldn't tell).

"It's just—" she continued, as though the words were being dragged out of her. "—with everything that's been happening—we may not make it through this." James tried to murmur reassuringly again, but she spoke with resolution. "We need to make a plan. I think Sirius should get Harry, don't you? Who knows—maybe he'll even settle down." She laughed bravely, but her voice broke in the middle. "I couldn't bear it if he were sent to strangers—my little boy! We have to protect him, James! Be more careful. No more taunting Death Eaters for fun, okay? No matter what Sirius says." She frowned as a fresh source of danger occurred to her. "He was always a bad influence on you—what if that means he gets Harry into all sorts of trouble? I think I'll write him some detailed instructions on child care, just in case."

She paused, obviously planning, and James seized his opportunity. "Lily, it's going to be okay," he assured her.

"You can't know that."

James sighed. "No, but I do know this: we are so lucky to have Harry in our lives, and I wouldn't change that for anything. And, Lily? If something does happen—and I'm not saying it will—we can trust that Sirius, Remus and Peter will take care of Harry. And he'll grow up knowing how much we love him. No matter what. We're trying to create a world where he can be safe and happy. And we love him—so much."

At this point, his parents' serious discourse, though conducted as quietly as such raw emotion permitted, woke little Harry James Potter. He opened his eyes, and reached for a lock of his mother's damp red hair. Lily smiled through her tears. James put an arm around her.

"Never forget that, huh, little guy?" he whispered to his son. "Your mother and I would do anything for you."

Lily, looking down into Harry's eyes, made him a promise. Though she didn't know the magic that would bind her to her word, she didn't need it—and she had the strangest impression that Harry knew that. He might not remember this conversation, but she felt instinctively that he understood it. She bent and kissed his cheek, her hair framing their faces, and whispered,

"Anything."


	6. Bad News

**Bad News**

"We are gathered here today…" said a tall, carelessly handsome man, from his sprawling position at one end of a rather dilapidated kitchen table, solemnly. His eyes twinkled at his companions: a black-haired, bespectacled man sitting beside a beautiful redheaded woman who sat perched daintily on the edge of her chair, and a small, nervous-looking man whose eyes flitted around the room, never quite lighting upon the faces of the others.

The redheaded woman rolled her eyes expressively. "Get to the point, Black."

The carelessly handsome man, Black, sighed in resignation. "Because Dumbledore reckons someone is sharing the right information with the wrong people."

"What?" the nervous-looking man asked, his eyes wide and fearful.

"A _spy_, Peter," explained Black impatiently. "Dumbledore reckons we've got ourselves a spy."

"Why?" asked the redhead, looking horrified.

"'cause Voldemort's always three steps ahead of us, of course." Black looked irritated at all the explaining he was being forced to do.

"No," the redhead brushed this telling point aside in favor of her quest for a different sort of knowledge. "Why would someone do that? Go behind their friends' backs, telling their secrets?"

The black-haired, bespectacled man shrugged. "Usual reasons: pretense of safety, power…"

The redhead sighed in familiar frustration. Why, _why _would anyone_ believe_ Voldemort's promises of safety? He was plotting to take over the Wizarding world! And why would anyone for an instant think someone who was plotting to _take over the world _would teach them or anyone else particularly arcane and powerful magic, when everyone with any sense knew Voldemort was trying to take over the world, not start an evil overlords support group!?! And as for the so-called '_honor_' of being asked to join the forces of darkness otherwise known as Voldemort's Death Eaters, the redhead could only marvel that anyone could be so blind to the nature of good and evil as to believe the newest Hitler Youth an _honorable_ enterprise. If only _certain people_ could be brought to realize this…she thought wistfully.

Peter cleared his throat nervously. "So, uh, who d-does d-Dumbledore th-think it i-is, s-Sirius?"

Sirius Black looked around his kitchen, as though searching for the spies his eyesight could certainly not detect, then whispered, "Remus."

"What?" exclaimed his companions at once.

Sirius had the grace to look ashamed of himself. "I know, but the fact is, he's hardly ever around, he hasn't had a decent job in, well, _ever_, and he _is_ a werewolf."

"But it's _Remus_, Sirius," protested the black-haired, bespectacled man.

"I know, Prongs," said Sirius solemnly. "I know."

"Oh, come on!" the redhead burst out as Prongs nodded reluctantly under Sirius's compelling look. "I can't believe you! What happened to you four being the best friends the world has ever seen? Look, I've known Remus as long as any of you—he was my co-Prefect! And he was my only serious competition in Arithmancy! He's much too smart to go over to Voldemort! There is no percentage in evil!"

"I don't know, Lily," said Prongs fairly. "I mean, in the long term, no, evil isn't the answer. But if you don't see a long term…Remus hasn't had even a mediocre job in ages, and he may not be able to afford much—you know, like food. And he's too proud to ask us, even though we'd pay his bills in a second."

"Yeah, that'd be Moony all over," corroborated Sirius.

"Yeah, totally!" agreed Peter squeakily.

"So, what, you guys reckon Remus has gone over to the Dark Side because he's too proud to ask his friends for money for groceries?" Lily demanded.

There was a small silence. Prongs and Sirius avoided Lily's gaze, and Peter attempted to shrink into his seat. Lily glared around at them all, waiting.

The three men spoke simultaneously:

"Well, yeah."

"Pretty much."

"Tragic, i-isn't it?"

"By Salazar!" swore Lily, jumping up out of her chair and heading for the door. "Remus is watching Harry! I can't believe you, Sirius! Why didn't you say anything before?"

"Well, we don't know for sure, and I needed an excuse not to invite him!" Sirius explained, aggravated.

"So you let James and I leave the man you suspect to be a _spy_ for the greatest Dark wizard of our times _alone_ with our infant son?!?"

"Now, Lily, it's okay—he wouldn't dare do anything to Harry that might jeopardize his cover," said James reassuringly, getting up and putting a soothing hand on Lily's arm.

Lily glared at James, twisted herself out of his grip, and stomped out of Sirius's kitchen, her cloak over her arm and her long red hair swinging. Moments later, James, Sirius, and Peter heard the loud Crack! that meant Lily had Disapparated.

James walked slowly back to the table.

"You know, Prongs," commented Sirius. "Maybe you should make sure Lily doesn't wipe the floor with Remus—Dumbledore wants us sworn to secrecy for now."

James nodded glumly.

"Also," added Sirius acerbically, "'by Salazar'? A Slytherin oath if ever I heard one. What's with her?"

James shrugged.

"Why does d-Dumbledore think the spy's a Marauder?" Peter asked after a pause, looking from James to Sirius anxiously.

"There are things only the five of us should know," James said darkly.

"But, it's been made clear we're not the only ones in the know," Sirius said bitterly. "And, you'd have to be nuttier than that crazy old lady, what's-her-name, author of _A History of Magic_, you two keep having over for tea to think _Lily_'s the spy. I do her that justice."

"Bathilda Bagshot?" squeaked Peter.

"Yeah." James looked rather depressed—even more, thought Sirius, than the probable end of the era of the Marauders warranted.

"What is it, Prongs?" he asked, worried.

"Nothing."

"Everything okay with you and Lily-Vanilly?"

"Yeah, everything's great," said James despondently. "We barely quarrel anymore, we have an adorable son, Lily's finally figured out what the stove is for, it's been a couple months since her parents died, the Muggle police have ruled out foul play and she's stopped crying herself to sleep every night—honestly, considering the fact that Voldemort's trying to destroy everything we care about and one of my best friends is helping him, we're doing really great."

"That's, uh, good, right? I mean, you guys are getting along, finally," Peter suggested helpfully.

James nodded, depressed.

Sirius studied him, then laughed. "Ha! That's it! Pete, our boy Prongs here can't stand domestic bliss! Lily's finally stopped giving him a hard time about what an 'arrogant toerag' he is, and started in with the commitment stuff—marriage, house, baby, actual edible cooking…and he can't stand it!"

"That's not it!" James protested hotly, then laughed in spite of himself.

"James has commitment issues, James has commitment issues…" Peter teased in a sing-song voice. Then all three of them were laughing as they hadn't since Sirius's Best Man speech at the Potters' wedding.

"Well?" James asked at last, wiping his streaming eyes. "What do you suggest, oh wise ones?"

Peter fell silent at once, as though he didn't feel qualified to give relationship advice.

Sirius frowned, thinking. At last he said slowly, "Well, as a friend—and I realize how ridiculous this is going to sound coming from me—I think you should _grow up_. I mean, this is what you've always wanted, right? You and Lily, blissfully married, with a little Marauder who's your spitting image—this is a dream come true for you. And so what if some of the fire's gone—isn't that what happens in long-term relationships?"

"Ha!" Peter interjected rather bitterly. "Like you've ever had a relationship last long enough to know!"

"It's just—" James said over Sirius's token protest, "—suddenly, after years of passion and truly incredible bossiness, she just wants to compromise all the time! Compromise! I ask you!"

"Well," said Sirius fairly. "There is a war on. She can't just stomp off in a huff—there are safety concerns."

"Yeah, I guess," said James, staring into the fire. "And now Remus is one of them."

After this conversation, Sirius didn't expect to see Lily outside of Godric's Hollow for the foreseeable future. Consequently, he was rather surprised when she requested his babysitting services a few weeks later. Still, as Harry's godfather (a distinction he was quite proud of) he graciously agreed.

Lily arrived on his doorstep, carrying Harry, with Alice, who was sparkling with happiness. Sirius reflected bitterly that marriage seemed to have improved her; Frank Longbottom had better realize how lucky he was.

"We're going shopping!" Alice informed him happily. Not unnaturally, he was a little taken aback, but he rallied immediately.

"Groceries?"

"Oh, no," answered Lily, twinkling mischievously. "Not this time. We're going to have some fun!"

"Fun?" Sirius asked as though he'd never heard of the stuff. In fact he had; but for him, fun consisted of pulling magnificent pranks, hanging with his mates, defying his birth family and all their works, fighting Death Eaters, or picking up girls in bars. The words 'shopping' and 'fun' made absolutely no sense to him when put together. Unless, of course, Lily and Alice were referring to the negative: that is, 'shopping is no fun.' Thus, he stared at Lily in horrified fascination.

She handed him Harry, who uttered a protesting cry at being separated from her, and smiled gratefully up at him. Sirius blinked. At last, he felt he understood James's assertion that when Lily smiled, sunlight illuminated the darkest of rooms.

"Thanks, Sirius," said Lily. "You're a lifesaver."

Sirius, much struck but still observant, inquired rather diffidently, "Not that I'm not happy to babysit, but does James know about this?"

Alice, leaning against the wall, tucked a blonde strand of hair back significantly.

"Well…" said Lily, grinning. "Not in the _strictest_ sense…"

"Okay, listen, Lily: we're fighting for our lives five nights out of seven—why on Earth are you risking your life to go shopping? Don't you set a higher priority on your safety than that?"

Lily glared. Correctly interpreting this to mean she did not relish his attempt to place restrictions on her conduct, Sirius nevertheless stood his ground.

"Listen, _Black_. If I don't get out of Godric's Hollow, I'll go prematurely crazy. You don't want that on your conscience," Lily pointed out sweetly, her hands on her hips.

"Or your doorstep," Alice added, grinning. "Come on, Lily—let's leave Sirius to it." She hooked her arm through Lily's and propelled her toward the door.

"Don't forget the childcare instructions—they're on the kitchen counter—I updated them last week—be careful—love you, Harry!" Lily called, and then the two women were gone.

Harry reached toward the door his redheaded mother had disappeared through, and frowned in preparation for a tantrum. Sirius swung him upward, and swooped himself and his godson into the kitchen (within reach of Lily's neat, elegant instructions). Sirius sat down with Harry on his lap, rapidly scanning Lily's updates.

"You know, little Prongslet," he said, looking down affectionately at Harry, "No matter how hard I try, I will _never_ understand your mother."


	7. Prophecy Baby

**Prophecy Baby**

A few weeks before Harry James Potter's first birthday, Albus Perceval Wulfric Brian Dumbledore rather pensively consumed a Muggle sweet known as a lemon drop. Two visitors—brave, athletic Frank Longbottom and his sweet young wife, Alice—had just left; and he was expecting more visitors, to whom he must give even more unwelcome news.

Albus Dumbledore had known James Potter and Lily Evans since they first arrived at Hogwarts—where both were immediately Sorted into Gryffindor. He had witnessed Lily's friendship with Slytherin Severus Snape, in spite of all odds; he had disciplined Snape and Black after a certain incident involving the Whomping Willow tree in their fifth year; he had deliberately made Miss Evans Head Girl (for which position she was more than qualified) and Mr. Potter Head Boy (for which position he met most minimum requirements). There followed the inevitable sequel: they were married shortly after being inducted into his own Order of the Phoenix. Consequently, he was rather proud, and certainly proprietary, of the Potters. The news he must give them pained him deeply, and he could only trust they would take every precaution.

"Sometimes, Fawkes," he murmured to the phoenix perched on the door to his office, "I hate this war."

A knock sounded upon the door, and James and Lily Potter entered. James was looking serious, and far less carefree than during his school days. His black hair continued to stick up in the back, but it seemed less defiant and more wilted than usual. Lily, though no less beautiful, looked older. There were large circles under her eyes, and her rich red hair seemed too heavy for her face. It was clear that the war was having its inevitable effect on these brave young people.

"James, Lily," Albus welcomed them, his heart heavy with the information he must give them. "Sit down."

"What's this all about, Professor?" James asked politely.

"I've called the two of you here because it has…come to my attention…that Voldemort believes a certain prophecy made to me a year and a half ago, approximately, refers to your son."

"Our son?"

"What prophecy?"

"Allow me to start from the beginning," Albus sighed. "Upon Professor Zelenko's retirement from the post of Divination teacher, I was disinclined to allow the subject to continue, as true Seeing is rare, and chancy at best. However, I received an application from the great-granddaughter of a very famous Seer, and I felt common civility obliged me to meet her. I was just about to depart our meeting and inform her that, regretfully, I would not be adding a Divination teacher to my staff at this time, when she went into a trance, and uttered a rather stunning prophecy. Before she was entirely finished, there was a commotion outside, and a young man was revealed to have been listening to our conversation. Precisely how much he heard I am uncertain, but that he relayed it to his master, Lord Voldemort, there can be no doubt. At first, I was uncertain as to whom the prophecy referred, but gradually my inquiries and educated guesswork have narrowed the possible candidates down: the individual in question is either young Neville Longbottom, or your son, Harry."

"What does Harry have to do with some ridiculous prophecy?" James demanded. "Professor, they're all bunk; you know that!"

"What does the prophecy say?" Lily asked quietly. Albus, glancing at her, ascertained that she was making a praiseworthy effort to keep her none-too-amiable temper in check, and thought it wisest to capitulate.

"Allow me to show you," he said, pulling out his Pensieve and giving the silvery thoughts inside a twirl. A figure, cloaked in multiple shawls and wearing glasses that seemed to magnify her eyes, appeared and began to speak:

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..." _

She finished, and vanished once more into the Pensieve. Albus placed it out of the way on a shelf behind him, and leaned back in his chair to observe his guests' reactions.

"And that means—Harry?" asked Lily, white-faced.

"It doesn't make any sense!" objected James. "'Power the Dark Lord knows not'—like what? That would be incredibly useful, if we had it! Have we thrice defied him? One loses track—this can't be happening! Are you _positive_ it's talking about my son? What can we do?"

"I strongly suggest that you go into deeper hiding—" began Albus.

"Wait!" Lily interrupted. "You knew this—for a year and a half? And we're only just hearing about it now? _Who are you?!_ My son is in terrible danger! How do you know it's him this prophecy's referring to, anyway? You said yourself it might be Alice's son. _Well_? Explain more, _Professor_." She glared.

Albus took up the thread of his tale once again. "Naturally, I didn't wish to worry you or the Longbottoms unduly—"

Lily snorted. James nudged her gently, and she subsided into sullen silence.

"—before we had fully ascertained to whom the prophecy referred. Voldemort has similarly been looking for the answer to this riddle. Recently, I received the information that Voldemort has decided the prophecy refers to your son. Neville Longbottom is also a potential candidate for the terms of the prophecy, but Voldemort's preference is clearly the clinching factor. Therefore, I urge you to go into hiding. I myself offer my services as Secret-Keeper."

"Thanks, Professor," said James abstractedly. "But I've already got someone in mind. Sirius would never betray us. Let's go, Lily: the longer it takes to set up the enchantment, the longer Harry remains more or less unprotected. Excuse us, Professor." He got up, and Lily rose also, uncertainly.

"Thanks for everything, Professor," said James, pulling Lily's arm. "Oh, before I forget!" he paused. "You said at the last Order meeting, that Voldemort might be looking for unusual objects. Well, I've got one—sort of a family heirloom! Next meeting I remember, I'll bring the Cloak, and you can take a look at it! Well, stay safe!" James headed for the door, bringing Lily with him, but she stopped at the threshold.

"You go on, sweetheart—I'll just be a minute," she assured him. He gave her a puzzled look, but left, shutting the door behind him.

Albus was left confronting Lily. Much to his chagrin, a slight embarrassment entered his manner. It would have profoundly shocked his many admirers (and still more his no less numerous detractors) to know that he of the x-raying blue gaze cringed before the piercing green eyes of young Lily Sunshine Evans Potter. She fixed those magnificent eyes on his, and drew a steadying breath.

"Professor, I need you to tell me the truth: _who told you that Voldemort reckons that prophecy is about my son_?"

"I really can't…I mean, that's confidential information, I'm afraid, Mrs. Potter," said Albus rather uncomfortably.

"I don't care!" cried Lily. "If you'll forgive my plain speaking, Professor, your mistakes have put my son in danger! If you had told James and me about this a year and a half ago—and everyone in the Order, for that matter!—we might have known better than to defy Voldemort that last time! I knew that was a mistake! There's bravery, and then there's just plain stupidity, as I'm sure you know! And, I should hope that next time, you will know better than to attempt to conceal from another concerned mother the dangerous state in which her child may be lying! I don't care about confidentiality—I just need to know! _Tell me the truth_!" Her last words were uttered with a ringing force rather familiar to Albus Dumbledore—though in quite a different context.

"Why do you wish to know?" he inquired softly. He had his suspicions, of course, though what to do if they were confirmed—! Well! He hoped he was as tolerant as the next man—or rather more so—but to have all his beautiful match-making plans overset might be too much! At such a time, too! He waited, curious. Would she divulge her true reason for seeking this confidential information?

Lily looked down at her hands. They were long, beautifully shaped, and encased in elegant gloves of a pale green. "Because," she began, looking up again. "Because…someone very dear to me is in a position which…lends itself to knowledge of Voldemort's movements. I believe…I may owe him a debt, which—not that I—but that doesn't signify. Please understand, Professor, I would do anything to protect my son. Is it too much to ask for the name of one who may have…saved his life?"

Reflecting that this assertion could well be premature, Albus studied Lily curiously. Her eyes had lost some of the dullness of the beginning of the interview. Clearly this meant a great deal to her.

At that moment, the door banged open, breaking the contemplative silence. James seemed to fill the doorway—a handsome young man with a good deal of vitality, Albus reflected. Surely Lily could not prefer a certain sullen, depressed young man to this vision—!

"Lily, we have to go! Come on!" said James impatiently, before retreating to the staircase. Lily pulled the door shut, leaning against it.

"Well?"

"Severus Snape."

Lily took a deep breath; her eyes filled with tears. "Thank you, Professor," she whispered reverently. "Oh, Sev—!" she breathed, and happiness seemed to radiate from her. Then some thought occurred to her, and her entire face seemed to shut down to a customary masklike expression. "I should go," she said mechanically, and opened the door.

"Finally!" Albus heard James mutter as they left. "What was that all about, anyway?"

If Lily replied, her excuse was lost as the spiral staircase took the young couple downward. Albus marveled at what he'd witnessed, but thought it wisest not to share Lily's extraordinary reaction with his informant. After all, it could still be some sort of trick, Severus's reformation (though Albus didn't believe that for a second) and he had no desire to serve James Potter such a backhanded turn.

"Well," he murmured to Fawkes, "Let us hope for harmony and safety in the Potter household."

Fawkes tilted his head, and gave Albus a speculative look.

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Note: quote is from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ chapter 37.


	8. Fate by Pumpkins AU!

**Author's Notes**: At last, here, finally, what you've all been waiting for! The chapter in which this story joins the ranks of Alternate Universes throughout fanfiction! Can you spot where it starts going AU (bearing in mind the fact that canon doesn't actually give us that many details on what precisely happened during the day of October 31, 1981)? Enjoy!

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**Fate by Pumpkins**

The morning of October 31, 1981 dawned like any other for the Potters. James spent it brooding over lost friends and unstoppable foes, pacing through the house like a caged lion.

Lily had originally meant to spend her morning doing the bills and her afternoon grocery-shopping, but for some reason, when she woke on October 31, she remembered that it was Halloween, and her spirit rebelled against another quiet day in hiding, waiting for Voldemort to discover them. Lily might be a witch, but she was raised a Muggle. Lately, she'd been longing to get back in touch with her roots, in any case. She regretted leaving her family so blithely as an eleven-year-old; if she'd known how much she would lose thereby, would she have ever attended Hogwarts? Magic powers were one thing, but she had learned the hard way that they weren't enough. Her love hadn't been enough to save her parents, and there were days she doubted it would ever be enough to save her son.

Consequently, she rebelled against Wizarding tradition: she determined to make Harry a Halloween costume.

Lily set to work. She unearthed an old, rusty, Muggle sewing machine in her share of the boxes from her childhood home. Her tears mixed with the rust as she maneuvered orange cloth, remembering her mother.

By lunchtime, she was ready for Harry to try on his costume. "Here, sweetheart," she told him, lifting him out of his crib. It took some effort, but she got him into it. "Now let's show Daddy," she told him.

He wriggled uncomfortably. "show Daddy? U'cle Padfoo!"

James, taking a lunch break from the all-consuming brooding, was violently irritated (though not at all surprised) to find that Lily, instead of making him lunch, had wasted her time on some trumpery artistic endeavor. Really, school was over! There were no extra credit opportunities to be found in Godric's Hollow—no matter how many times one invited Bathilda Bagshot for tea!

"Show Daddy, Harry," encouraged Lily, carrying him into the kitchen.

"Daddy, Daddy!" cried Harry. "Orange!"

"What's that supposed to be?" snapped James, giving the round orange bundle of fabric out of which his son's limbs protruded a cursory glance.

"It's his _costume_!" explained Lily, hurt. "His _Halloween_ costume!"

"Yes, but what_ is_ it?"

"A pumpkin," Lily answered, with an air of offended dignity. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Maybe to someone obsessed with trite, commercial Muggle holidays," muttered James angrily. "Speaking of pumpkins, do we have any _food_?" He opened a cupboard, stared despairingly into it, and closed it again with a sigh.

Lily glared at him. "Fine. You never take an interest in my efforts. It's not like it's easy, keeping you and Harry amused during our enforced isolation! And I have to do everything around here! Godric forfend _you _could actually cook once in awhile!"

"Lily," said James, with the long-suffering air of one explaining a simple concept to a stubborn child, "you are my wife. Besides—"

"Oh, great. Sexism!" exclaimed Lily. Harry, uncomfortable with loud, angry voices, began to cry.

"Oh, come on!" James protested impatiently. "You hate it when I cook! Since you can't handle how many dishes I get dirty!"

"Just because I want the house to be clean—"

"Can't you shut him up?" complained James, gesturing toward Harry, who was now weeping gustily.

"That's a fine way to talk about your son!" said Lily, clutching Harry close to her chest.

"I'm not the bad guy, here, Lily!"

"Fine. Since you're so competent, make your own lunch!" Lily turned, carrying Harry, and stomped upstairs, her hair swinging defiantly. James heard a loud slam! from the direction of the nursery.

He sighed in frustration, yanked the refrigerator open, and stared moodily into it.

Thus James spent the afternoon brooding, and Lily wrestled with the bills in the nursery, periodically breast-feeding her son. Many learned Healers disapproved of breast-feeding—it 'sunk the ideal, pureblood lady to the level of a common Muggle wench'—but Lily had been raised to believe happier, more well-adjusted children were breast-fed for at least the first year. At about half-past two, she put Harry down for a nap, and he fell asleep almost at once. She tiptoed out of the nursery, and down to the kitchen.

Using a rather useful charm she'd learnt from a dear friend, she soundproofed the kitchen and began making James's favorite dishes.

It took her several hours, but at last she was able to complete the Herculean task she had set for herself. "James!" she called. "Dinner's ready!"

Surprised—he had been expecting cold leftovers and the silent treatment—James brought Harry into the kitchen, still in the pumpkin costume.

"Sweetheart, I should never have—"

"Lily, I want you to know I—"

They both broke off. Awkwardly, James gestured for Lily to continue.

"I was unfair to you. I know you put in your share of the work, it's just—well, I guess it's frustrating, being shut up here. I'm sorry, James."

"Lily, however much you doubt it, I do understand. It was just a silly quarrel. Let's kiss and make up!" James suggested with alacrity.

Lily frowned for a moment, then laughed. She leaned over and kissed James lightly on the mouth, and moved Harry to his high chair. Dinner passed peacefully enough, and the three of them retired to the living room. Suddenly, James leapt to his feet.

"It's not fair! We're cooped up here, with nothing to do! Poor Harry never gets to see kids his own age—!" James once more began to pace. Lily noted absently the marks on the carpet worn by his feet.

She sighed. "I know. I would have liked to take Harry trick-or-treating."

James gave her a quizzical look.

"It's a Muggle tradition. Kids dress up, knock on their neighbors' doors and say 'trick or treat!' and they get free candy." James looked disgusted. He was considering the safety issue: if he, Marauder and trouble-maker extraordinaire, could already think of four or five ways to…enliven…such an evening, imagine the dangers his son would be subject to! It didn't bear thinking of.

Lily tugged absently at Harry's pumpkin costume. He giggled. "It's just…I miss Halloween. And I went to all this trouble to give Harry a proper costume, but you were the only one to see it, and you don't even like it!"

James coughed awkwardly. "Sure I…well…" he paused, met Lily's eyes, in which disappointment, fear, and a deep sadness lurked, and inspiration struck. "I know!"

"What?" Lily asked, dejected.

"We'll take Harry to see Sirius! I feel like it's been years since I talked to him! Besides, you said it yourself: it seems a pity to waste Harry's costume!"

Lily frowned at him. "But James! The security risk!"

"So?" James would allow no disparagement of his plan. "You still go grocery shopping, and who's to say Voldemort won't leap out from behind the breakfast cereals? Besides, we can trust Sirius! Nearly made him our Secret-Keeper, didn't we?"

"Exactly," agreed Lily, "and that's precisely why we can't take Harry to see him! Remember his whole plan that Voldemort would go after him, sure he was our Secret-Keeper, but it would be Peter all along? Ergo, he's expecting Voldemort to show up and torture him for information about us?"

"What?" James scoffed. "No way! Even Sirius wouldn't be that stu—oh!"

Lily crossed her arms stubbornly. "So it's not safe."

"You don't know that—Sirius probably exaggerated his own importance in Voldemort's eyes. He has a leaning toward the grandiose, you know." James's tone was casual, but inwardly he was shaken. Why hadn't he realized how far Sirius was really willing to go for him? If he thought about it too hard, he was sure to be overcome by emotion. At the same time, now more than ever did he long to see Sirius, and give him a good shake for getting himself into so much trouble!

"Well," said Lily, with all the air of one delivering a clinching argument, "Dumbledore told us not to go anyplace—especially after dark, especially without your Invisibility Cloak, which he still has—speaking of which, why did you give it to him, anyway? I thought it was a family heirloom—and so we're basically trapped here, waiting for someone else to finish the war against Voldemort, or for him to come murder us in our beds. Remind me again why you think we should go out, forfeiting all arrangements for our and our son's safety?"

"Oh, darling, most precious Lily," began James, "even the great Dumbledore couldn't possibly object to our taking Harry to show Sirius his pumpkin costume—the one you so beautifully and painstakingly made. After all, Sirius is Harry's godfather, tonight is Halloween, and you and I both know if we don't get out and about, breathing the sweet air of freedom, soon, we'll both go crazier than Sirius's mum, and the Order will be out two of its most valued members. We'll do Disillusionment Charms, Muggle transport—no attention-grabbing Apparition—the whole bit. It'll be fine, you'll see." James spoke with an assurance he was far from feeling, but his argument seemed to work.

Graciously, Lily allowed herself to be persuaded. She could not deny the justice of James's last remark, and she rather resented Dumbledore's high-handed methods of arranging everyone's lives around him.

Thus, at half-past seven on October 31, 1981, Lily and James Potter and their infant son crept out of their little house in Godric's Hollow, under cover of darkness (and some nifty Disillusionment Charms cast by Lily). On the way, they passed a small Muggle child crying for his mother and a tall, dark shadow one might easily mistake for a Dementor. Their steps didn't falter, and they didn't see a white, nose-less face gleaming in the darkness.

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**More Author's Notes**: So, did you see it? In my canon version of this, Lily doesn't decide to make Harry a Halloween costume, and she goes shopping in the morning and does the bills all afternoon. She and James quarrel at dinner, but make it up and decide to spend a quiet evening at home because during all that arguing it got late enough that Harry's bedtime was fast approaching. Also, there was the whole safety issue.

Furthermore, yes, the kid crying for his mother is the same one Voldemort saw in the canon version, and the white, nose-less face does belong to the Dark Lord. Intent upon his prey, he doesn't see Lily, James and Harry (who are Disillusioned, anyway). Sometimes, the easiest place to hide is in plain sight.


	9. Over the Threshold

**Over the Threshold**

"James!" exclaimed Sirius Black, throwing his arms around his rather startled best friend. Hugging James like there was no tomorrow, Sirius effectively prevented James's wife, Lily, and infant son, Harry, from crossing his home's threshold—much to the former's annoyance, and the latter's confusion.

James, taken aback but pleased, patted Sirius on the back awkwardly. "It's great that you missed me, Padfoot," he said reassuringly. He glanced at Lily, bewildered. She rolled her eyes expressively.

"U'cle Pa'foo!" cried Harry peremptorily.

Sirius paid no heed.

"Okay, Sirius, mate, oxygen becoming an issue," said James, making some effort to free himself. Sirius let go, but before either James or Lily could demand an explanation, he had thrown his arms around Lily.

"Hey!" she yelped, rather surprised, then cried "_Baby_!" pointedly, handing Harry to James to prevent his being crushed, and frowning at Sirius. "Whose costume you're supposed to notice, by the way. Black," she sighed. "You are such a weirdo."

At that, Sirius let her go, and grabbed Harry, swinging him into the air, and then clutching him to his chest. "Pronslet! Safe! Safe and sound!" he cried ecstatically. Harry squirmed to be free, and his godfather reluctantly loosened his death-grip, his tall frame still amply filling the doorway.

"Okay, Padfoot: what's going on?" asked James, reaching the limit of his patience. "I missed you too, but we saw you a couple of days ago—what's with the long-lost soulmate routine?"

"Yeah, that was some hug," teased Lily. "Should I be jealous?"

Sirius had the grace to look embarrassed. "Uh…" he mumbled, tucking a strand of too-long silky black hair behind one ear awkwardly.

"U'cle Pa'foo!" said Harry authoritatively, saving his godfather in the nick of time. "Down!" Sirius put him down, and Harry squeezed around him easily and ran into his threadbare apartment. Lily visibly restrained herself from blasting Sirius with a good hex and following her son.

"So…what's up?" asked James, adapting himself to the situation and leaning one shoulder casually against the doorjamb.

"Yes, do tell," muttered Lily, glaring.

Sirius responded in true dramatic style: "I thought you were dead!" he exclaimed, throwing out his arms and hitting his knuckles on the wall. He winced, but valiantly continued: "Voldemort burned your house down twenty minutes ago! They're still checking on your neighbors, but eyewitnesses claimed Voldemort stormed up to your house, yanked open the door, and disappeared inside. Not three minutes later, he stormed out again, sent some sort of light messenger thing—maybe a Patronus, but the Ministry hasn't been able to make sense of that part of the story yet—and then turned and set fire to your house! Blue and white fire, which just shows you—and then another black-robed figure showed up, and the pair of them practically destroyed Godric's Hollow—although, in all honesty, that part might be a tiny bit exaggerated. Still. We have to get you three in hiding again!"

"Yeah," Lily said sarcastically, white-faced. "Because that worked out _so well_ the first time. You do realize what this means?"

"We need to find Peter," James agreed, his mouth set in an uncompromising line.

Sirius sobered immediately. "I know. I sent Remus a Patronus—he should be here any minute now. I can't believe we thought it was him, and all the time Peter was the spy. Little Wormtail—he was never all that strong, but I thought he was all right."

"Me too," sighed James heavily.

"Me three," said a new voice. James, Sirius, and Lily turned, to behold grey, shabby Remus Lupin, his eyes crinkling happily at the corners at the sight of them. His mouth remained hard and unforgiving, but his eyes gave him away.

"Moony," cried James and Sirius with one voice. "Can you ever forgive us?"

"Well…" Remus teased. "I might have to hold it against you for a few years, bringing it up when you argue with me, discount my advice…"

"Thank Godric!" Sirius said devoutly. The three young men exchanged a heartfelt, but brief, group hug, while Lily looked on indulgently, one hand on her hip.

"I never thought you were the spy, Remus," she assured him.

"Well, we're not out of the woods yet," said Remus, gently disengaging himself from James and Sirius. "In fact, we have a big problem."

"Peter," James and Sirius once more spoke together.

"Snuffles!" exclaimed Lily, her hand flying to her mouth.

"What?" the three men asked, bewildered.

Lily glared. "Our cat! The poor thing!"

"Oh, right," said James vaguely, looking slightly conscience-stricken. Lily rolled her eyes, and went to check on her son.

"There's Peter, but the problem is you three," Remus continued. "James, you and Lily really need a new protection spell. Like, right now. If the media's got it right, Voldemort is royally ticked you lot weren't home to welcome him with tea and biscuits when he came by to murder you. We have got to act fast."

"What, no textbook talk?" teased Sirius.

"_Now_, Padfoot. Let's go to your kitchen and do the darn spell. I brought everything we'll need, and then you and I can swing by Dumbledore's office and warn him, and then we'll hunt down Peter. Got it?"

James and Sirius exchanged a look, but they knew when to quit. "Got it," James sighed, not looking forward to yet another period of enforced isolation while his two best friends in the world hunted down his oldest friend—he'd known Peter since they were both toddlers, and never, never, _never _in a thousand years would he have dreamed Peter could betray him like this—and killed him. Because that was what it would come to—he could read it in Sirius's posture, and Remus's practical, clipped tones. With a sigh, he turned toward the door of Sirius's apartment, to tell Lily the new plan, hoping she wouldn't waste even more time begging Moony and Padfoot to admire Harry's pumpkin costume, and, in spite of himself, rather longing for a nice, fast and furious duel with the greatest Dark wizard who had ever lived, just because it had been so long since he'd had any _fun_.

Meanwhile, some few moments before the Potters arrived on Sirius Black's dilapidated doorstep, a tall, dark figure in an enveloping black cloak was pacing up and down angrily in front of what had been, until very recently, number 3 Shady Lane, Godric's Hollow.

A loud Crack! precipitated the arrival of his favorite henchwoman. Bellatrix Lestrange was a young witch at the height of her powers and her rather incredible beauty. She was also extremely loyal to him. Voldemort liked that in a woman.

"Master, you summoned me?" she asked, after bending down and kissing the hem of his robes reverently.

"Yes. The Potters!"

"You killed them?" she ventured, glancing inquiringly into his white face.

"They weren't there!" he lamented, gesturing at the wreckage of their home idly. "Months of effort—Pettigrew, the snot-nosed idiot, told me they would be here!"

Making a silent vow to torture Peter Pettigrew to death at the earliest opportunity for vexing her Master, Bellatrix murmured sympathetically, "Do you want me to find them, my Lord?"

"No!" Voldemort paced angrily, crushing what few planets had survived the flying sparks from the fire under his feet. "After all that work, to be foiled by—who? Someone must have warned them—told them Pettigrew couldn't be trusted! There's no other explanation! But who? Dumbledore! Of course! That Muggle-loving fool has always stood in my way! Suppose the prophecy was a deliberate ruse, just to make me concentrate all my efforts on those pestilential Potters!"

"Forgive me, my Lord," Bellatrix began, inwardly quaking with nerves and shivering with joy that her Lord was confiding her, but determined to make the most of this opportunity to enjoy a conversation with him that lasted longer than: "Bellatrix, these are my orders. Kill So-and-So. Bring me that," and "Yes, Master."

"What prophecy?" she asked nervously.

It was a testament to how completely overset Voldemort was at the Potters' unexpected absence that he answered Bellatrix's question, rather than torturing her for being so nosy. "The prophecy! It supposedly said something about the 'one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord' being born in July, to parents who had defied me three times—there are only two such children, of course, but I was so sure the Potter brat—"

"Well," suggested Bellatrix diffidently. "If there are two such children, wouldn't it be more prudent to kill them both?"

"Hmmm," murmured Voldemort, a slow, evil smile spreading across his face. "Bella," he said, looking down at her, "you have your uses."

Bellatrix flushed with pleasure. "My Lord," she murmured ecstatically. "I live to serve you."

"I know," Voldemort murmured, flicking her cheek with a careless finger. "I know."


	10. The Almost Inevitable Sequel

**The (Almost) Inevitable Sequel**

"We've got news," called Sirius Black, shaking his head so little droplets of rainwater flew in all directions. He flung his coat, which was drenched, down on the sofa. Lily winced, but refrained from comment on the basis of the fact that it was Sirius's apartment. Remus Lupin followed Sirius in, the droplets of water covering his hair accentuating its gray streaks.

James Potter bounded out of Sirius's cramped living room (more so now that the Potters were sleeping in it) and waited breathlessly, clearly at the point where news, any news, was like water to a man dying of thirst. "Well?" he demanded.

"There's no easy way to say this…" began Remus awkwardly. Lily waited, outwardly calm. Remus was worried; this was never good. Reflexively, she pictured Sirius's living room, infant Harry asleep on the sofa. She counted the seconds it would take her to dash in there, grab Harry, and escape the apartment—she doubted Remus and Sirius were about to tell them to 'get out now, Death Eater proximity alert!' but one could never be too careful. She and James, Lily mused, had learned that lesson the hard way.

"Frank-and-Alice," Sirius blurted, treating it as one word.

Lily, already on edge, stiffened. James quirked his eyebrows at Remus impatiently.

"Are dead," finished Remus. Lily gasped, her hand over her heart, and sank to the floor, staring sightlessly at the towering pile of undone dishes in the sink ("do you _like_ to live in squalor?" she had asked Sirius just that morning).

"What…?" James began.

"Voldemort," said Sirius concisely.

"Their son survives," Remus continued valiantly. "It looks like—that is, Dumbledore reckons—you know that prophecy that meant you three had to go into hiding? It claimed the one who would defeat Voldemort…well, we thought it meant Harry (and so did he) but he seems to have changed his mind."

"You mean…this is all our fault," said Lily quietly.

James snorted. "It's hardly our fault that some evil psychopath went after Frank and Alice's son instead of ours. Get a grip, Lily."

Sirius glared at James, as though ashamed at his lack of tact. This was unusual enough that James glanced back, confused. "What?" he demanded.

"'Get a grip?' What's your problem, Prongs? Alice and Frank—"

"Don't!" exclaimed Lily, roused out of painful reverie. "_Don't say it_. And I don't need your help, Black."

"Harsh!" cried Sirius, his hand over his heart in exaggerated shock. "Why are you always such a shrew, Evans?"

"That's my wife you're—"

"Everyone, if you'd just calm down—"

"Alice and Frank—this isn't happening—"

"You selfish bastard—"

"I told you I didn't need any assistance, Black!"

"What, like you're any better? Still jealous Alice married Frank, huh? You're so transparent, _Black_—"

"Why do you both always ignore me? No wonder Peter turned evil—it's actually impossible to break into Potter-and-Black, Black-and-Potter—do you even care that we're all temporarily safe from the greatest Dark wizard who's ever lived, and you three can move out of this avant-garde hellhole Sirius calls home, and maybe for once we can evade immediate, torturous danger—or any rate _you _all can—"

"This is all your fault—if only we'd warned Alice properly—I'll bet Dumbledore did a wretched job of it, what is his problem, anyway? And we could've all gone into hiding together—"

"Thank Godric we no longer need your help—"

"Right, you and Lily-Vanilly'll be just fine without me, dancing around the fact that you're both secretly wishing you hadn't been quite so eager to marry your Hogwarts sweetheart—oh, no wait, you weren't her sweetheart, were you? He's a Death Eater, probably quaking in fear this very moment—"

"Unsay those words, you vile, pureblood—"

"Struck a nerve, Prince Potter? I marvel that you dare address a Black thus—"

"Trading on your family name—"

"Waaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!" cried Harry from the bedroom, easily drowning out his parents, his godfather, and his father's dear friend. Awaking in a dark and still unfamiliar room, alone, and without his beloved toy dragon, Hungy, Harry was furious and a little frightened. Although he had only recently achieved 15 months, any child in his position could not fail to be affected by the tense atmosphere prevailing, first at 3 Shady Lane, Godric's Hollow, and now triple fold at 534 Lake Terrace, London. He missed Hungy, his room, the cat, Snuffles, his toy broomstick from "U'cle Pa'foo," and most of all, the good-natured, constant attention his parents gave him when they literally had nowhere else to go. Which was not to say that they ignored him now; but the hushed, serious conversations between the adults in his life had drastically jumped in frequency during the week that had passed since Halloween. He strenuously objected to this development. Luckily for him, his parents' hearing was _particularly_ acute.

His mother rushed into the room, snatching him into her arms, and abruptly, he stopped crying, convinced that while she held him thus, nothing too terrible could ever happen.

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"Mrs. Longbottom," said Albus Dumbledore gravely, inclining his head. The woman before him stood tall and proud, her dress elegant, her manner assured and formal, her eyes hard and piercing, and her mouth tightly compressed.

"Professor Dumbledore," she acknowledged, with the air of a Queen granting an audience. The baby was nowhere in sight, Albus noted; inwardly, he sighed. This would not be an easy task.

"Are you cognizant with the reason I encouraged Frank and Alice to go into hiding, ma'am?" Albus asked. He wanted to sit down, but somehow doubted the wisdom of doing so uninvited under Mrs. Longbottom's eagle eye.

With a barely expressed sigh, she perched lightly on an uncomfortable-looking sofa, gesturing to him to continue. Gratefully, he sat down, and began the story he had already explained twice (mentioning as few names as possible): how Sybil Trelawney had made him a prophecy about a Leo child with Voldemort-defying parents; how Severus Snape, overhearing this, had reported it to Voldemort, who in turn had spent some time scouring the countryside (and known members of the Order of the Phoenix) for the child in question; how Severus Snape had further come to Albus, distraught and absolutely genuine, with the information that Voldemort, having narrowed his options down to two small boys, had determined upon Harry Potter; how he, Albus, had warned both boys' parents; how Lily and James, betrayed by Peter Pettigrew, had miraculously escaped Voldemort yet again and taken refuge with Sirius Black; how Voldemort, baulked in the matter of the Potters, had inexplicably changed his choice; how Frank and Alice (who placed their faith in the Ministry) were unprepared for the attack; how Neville had escaped, and defeated the greatest Dark wizard of all time, because his mother had thrown herself in front of Voldemort's wand and died to save her baby; and how, to make a long story short:

"I'm here to take Neville to live with his mother's cousin, Mrs. Perks, and her family." Mrs. Longbottom stared at him, speechless with fury. "Because of Alice's sacrifice, the only way to ensure Neville's safety is by placing him with those who share his mother's blood. Voldemort can't touch him there," he explained patiently.

"_Safe_!" exclaimed Augusta Longbottom, flinging herself to her feet and towering over Albus like an avenging Fury. "Safe! With _her_? You think—_you actually think_—that That Woman can take better care of _my _grandson than I can?" she paused, breathing hard and glaring in shock and rage. "Have you ever _met _Sarah Louise Callahan Perks?"

"That is hardly relevant; I have tried to explain to you—" began Albus, trying in vain to regain control over the conversation.

"I thought not," Mrs. Longbottom smirked.

"Mrs. Longbottom, I am aware that you are distraught—"

"Distraught? _Distraught_? How can you say that to me? My son is dead, Albus! Both of them, gone—I passed distraught the moment I went to check on them and found Frank—_my Frank!_—dead on the ground, and the entire top floor blown to bits, Neville crying amid the wreckage! _You don't know! _Neville is all I have, and by Godric you are_ not_ going to take him away from me!"

Albus took off his half-moon glasses and cleaned them on his robes, moved. Mrs. Longbottom stared at him, breathing hard as though she had just climbed a steep hill. When he felt he had some control over himself again, Albus made another attempt:

"Augusta," he said softly. "I do understand. But this is for Neville's own good—you can have no understanding of the danger he will be in; it is unlikely Voldemort is truly gone—and there are the Death Eaters—countless dangers. His mother's blood will keep Neville _safe_; surely you can understand."

"I don't care," Mrs. Longbottom said flatly, almost expressionlessly. "_I don't care_!" she cried, her voice rising. "I don't care what terrible things—Death Eaters, tricks and traps—if Voldemort does come back I'll make sure to give him hell—I don't care what I have to do to keep Neville safe—update the blood wards, destroy that house—you're the one who doesn't understand! So careful, always the disinterested, kindly observer—you have _no idea_ what this is really about! And the truth is, you haven't been this interested in what goes on in the world around you since Grindlewald! Not that I'm familiar with the details—but that's just it! You love this war so much—you ought to be grateful to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! He's given you purpose, something to alleviate the monotony!" she paused for a moment, studying him. Unnerved, Albus stared back. "You know, Albus," she continued softly, "for such a clever man, you're remarkably foolish."

"Augusta, whatever my feelings may be upon this occasion is beside the point. You must allow me to take Neville to Mrs. Perks immediately—"

Mrs. Longbottom raised her wand—Albus instinctively jumped back a pace—and pointed it at a large, ornate silver bell on the wall. Almost instantly, a house-elf entered the room in answer to her summons.

"Hinkey," said Mrs. Longbottom, her gaze never wavering from Albus's face, "escort Professor Dumbledore to the door. Do not let him out of your sight." She paused, and the elf hurried to Albus, pushing him toward the door. "Oh, and Hinkey?" Mrs. Longbottom continued almost casually. "If he tries to look for, steal, or in any way interfere with Neville…do whatever it takes to stop him."

"Augusta!" Albus protested, pained. "You don't know what you're doing!"

"Albus," she replied sweetly. "_Get out of my house_."


	11. Particular Stars

**Particular Stars**

"_We are all of us in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."_

"You'll never guess what just happened," exclaimed Sirius Black, halfway between exasperated fury and laughter. His friends looked up from their various pursuits (Remus Lupin, having succumbed to a desire for cleanliness, was washing the dishes, and the Potters had their heads bent together over a housing catalogue).

"It's late…" began Lily disapprovingly. Sirius suppressed a sigh. James, having looked up from the catalogue, made a shushing motion at Lily, who turned to glare fiercely at him. Sirius stepped in quickly, before a full-fledged quarrel could start—it was quite late, and if James and Lily had a row while he and Remus were there, the chances that he would ever get to share his surprising story would decline sharply. It was odd, Sirius reflected idly, that James claimed he and Lily weren't quarreling enough—they certainly seemed to do it all the time in his apartment. Unless James missed a different sort of quarreling…? The whole James-and-Lily, Lily-and-James thing was much too confusing, he decided. Lily was so unappreciative of James—always glaring at the most insignificant comments. Sirius didn't know what James saw in her—or rather, he _knew_—her hair, her smile…nevertheless, he was…_concerned_ for his best friend. Yes, concern was perfectly natural. If only…

But that was unimportant. These considerations flashed through his mind as he launched immediately into his story. At first, his friends were skeptical, but it wasn't long before they were hanging on every word, and he had lost himself in his narration:

"So I've been following Peter's trail for awhile now," Sirius began. "I lost the little rat outside Hampstead the other night, but I picked up the trail again in Dublin, and tonight I finally found the bastard. Only someone else found him first—can you believe it? I know I haven't been putting the hours in—other considerations—but to think that scumbag eluded me for at least a couple minutes longer than he did my bitch of a cousin!"

Here he was obliged to pause, as Lily scowled on behalf of womankind and James grinned and demanded clarification he didn't need. There was only one cousin Sirius would label thus…

"Bellatrix! I mean, standing there, as bold as anything, in some rotten apartment building I take it Peter had been hiding in, and there he was, scavenging for something—I don't know, mind, but I got a glimpse and it sure looked like a photograph—but anyway, there they both are, and I would've stormed in but honestly, if I'd gone in there demanding vengeance of Peter I would've ended up having to defend him against Bellatrix, which would have been a real waste. So I waited, Disillusioned, peering down a hole in the roof. Peter sniffed the air, and Bellatrix shot a spell at him but it missed at the last second, and then she said—

'You sent my Lord on a wild hippogriff chase to the Potters'!'

—and Peter, in a real turnaround from the whole meek and mildness usual stuff, came back with—

'What about what happened at the Longbottoms? Worse than a wild hippogriff chase, right?'

—and she frowned him down. She was furious! She said, all prim and proper—

'That is irrelevant.'

—Of course Peter doesn't stand for that! Oh no! Who knew he had so much spunk? He went—

'Irrelevant! Yeah, right: everyone knows you're crazy about him—'

'How dare—!' she started, eyes snapping in that way they do when she's about to take your head off, 'You always were a fool, you little rat! _Crucio_!' and as you can imagine, Peter started screaming in pain. Bella put her hand on her hip, in typical triumphant fashion, and I really think she would have tortured him into insanity."

Sirius paused for a moment, unsure whether he was reveling in that possibility, or recoiling from it in horror. Uncertainly, he cleared his throat and continued:

"But then, there came the unmistakable sounds of a few bumbling Aurors (someone should do something about that—honestly, if Mad-Eye Moody had been there—!) because you could hear them plain as day:

'Hurry! Open this door! Someone's being tortured!'

They stated the obvious with more flair than you'd have any reason to suspect. Then I guess Bellatrix must have heard them (although it isn't like her to pay much heed to the outside world once she's got her claws into someone) because just as they finally managed to get the door open (what a bunch of fools they must have been!) there was a resounding Crash!"

It reverberated through the room for awhile, and when I chanced a more thorough glance down I saw Peter's robes crumpled on the floor, one solitary finger gleaming pristinely. The rest of the blood was the first Auror's, I'm afraid—Bellatrix must've taken him out too."

The rest would have been a bit dodgy (my crazy cousin's more than a match for five ordinary Aurors in a fair fight) but the second one was a real quick study. Bellatrix was still a bit dazed from the blast, and he shot a well-aimed, well-timed Disarming Jinx her way. They managed to tie her up before she pulled the knife in her boot, so the casualties were relatively minimal (of the five Aurors, I'm positive at least two have got broken ribs, and my heart went out to the one she kneed in the groin)."

At any rate, they dragged her away, but before they left I heard her laughing. In the doorway, she whispered, 'Your trick, little rat,' which I have to admit, made absolutely no sense to me. I mean, Bellatrix! Well, I suppose she really is crazy."

I checked the room after the Aurors and my beloved cousin had gone, and Pete had chucked our yearbook in a corner filled with cobwebs and at least one rat hole—not to mention the droppings. There's no doubt about it, James—Peter was definitely playing for the other team. I'm sorry, mate."

Sirius finished his story on a mournful, rather than a triumphant note, but this suited his companions. They did not share Sirius's fascination with Bellatrix, not being acquainted with that tempestuous lady, but they were all profoundly shocked by Peter's apparent demise: James because an innate and incurable optimism had led him to hope the whole thing would prove to be some terrible mistake involving the Imperius Curse and boatloads of veritaserum; Lily because to turn to the Dark Side and _not _throw oneself on Dumbledore's mercy as soon as one realized what one had done seemed to her the act of a lunatic or a fool, and although Peter had never impressed her with his intelligence in school, she hadn't thought him such an idiot as _that_; and Remus because the thought, bitterly suppressed, that Peter, the little rat, would outlive them all, had more than once occurred to him.

Sirius, glancing round at them all, found himself thanking his lucky stars (especially his own particular star, for which he had been named) that he was lucky enough to have friends like these. They were here—they were safe. What else mattered?


	12. Problem Free

Author Notes: Okay, last time people did notice the blind spot of Sirius, James and Remus. However, _they_ have yet to realize this, and it's been nearly two years since the previous chapter. And now, in 1983...

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**Problem Free**

"Okay, sweetheart, what else do you reckon we need?" murmured beautiful, redheaded Lily Sunshine Evans Potter, balancing her almost-three-year-old son on her hip and scanning the living room.

Harry, gripping his toy dragon, Hungy II, in both hands, suggested, "Broomstick! Ex-expo-exploding snap!" joyously. "Let's show Nev Uncle Padfoot's _special _cards!"

Lily grinned, but said, "Now Harry, you know that you're only allowed to play Exploding Snap with your Uncle Padfoot, and even then I'd prefer you to have adult supervision."

"Uncle Padfoot's a grown-up," Harry pointed out.

"That," murmured Lily, bending to pick up some yellowed newspapers, "is a matter of opinion."

She had been saving newspapers for some time now, as a treat for Harry and Neville. Not that either of them was very interested in the printed word as yet, but Augusta Longbottom had promised Neville she would allow him to try painting with something other than that horrible pastel set of watery, chunky, edible baby paint some cousin of his had sent, and Neville had told Harry, who had demanded to be included. On the whole, Lily was pleased with this result—it meant slightly more work for her, but she was so glad Harry and Neville were getting to be good friends. She and Alice had been close, and she was Neville's godmother. Furthermore, it seemed very hard on the poor boy, with only his grandmother—although Mrs. Longbottom had always been very kind (in a rather grand way) to Lily, and had even insisted she call her Augusta. Consequently, Harry and Neville's weekly play dates (while Lily sat drinking tea with Augusta and chatting—at first she'd been nervous, but in fact Augusta told her many witty anecdotes about Albus Dumbledore, Cornelius Fudge, and even Minerva McGonagall) had become quite an established thing. Often Lily and Harry stayed at Longbottom Manor until past seven. Upon the only occasion that Lily had invited Augusta and Neville to tea at the small, neat house she and James had found in Ottery St. Catchpoole, James and Sirius had been present, and Augusta had read the latter such a lecture—! Lily still grinned at the memory.

She pulled a particularly yellowed newspaper from behind the ugly vase Petunia had sent her for her birthday a few years ago and rather absentmindedly stared at the front page. Barty Crouch Sr. stared back, his moving lips the only sign that he might be making a speech, from the left side of the paper, opposite a picture of a haggard-looking Rabastan Lestrange and a frightened, fidgeting Barty Crouch Jr. being led away by Aurors. Lily winced. She remembered that particular case—the scandal had destroyed the Crouch family. Young Barty Crouch Jr. had been caught in company with the Lestrange brothers after they had tortured and murdered Rufus Scrimgeour, a young Auror. It seemed they blamed the Ministry of Magic for Voldemort's disappearance. Rodolphus Lestrange had been killed in the struggle, but Rabastan and Barty Crouch had stood trial (or what passed for a trial—Death Eaters were rarely accorded even that). Lily sighed—the months directly following Voldemort's disappearance had been grim—but tucked the newspaper under her arm.

"Lily, come on in," Augusta welcomed her.

"Harry!" cried Neville excitedly.

"Nev!" exclaimed Harry, scrambling to get out of his mother's arms. And the two of them were off; Neville's reclusive grandfather had sent him another bizarre, expensive gift—these were never age-appropriate—and he was eager to show it off. Lily and Augusta smiled at them indulgently.

Augusta got Harry and Neville set up with 'grown-up' paints on a makeshift mat of layered, yellowed newspaper, and directed Lily to a small, elegant table upon which stood a lovely tea set. The thought that all of this delicate, old-fashioned finery was not perfectly suited to her (or she to it) occurred to Lily—as it often did—but she repressed it.

"So are we set for the party?" she asked, taking the tiny teacup Augusta handed her gingerly.

"I believe so," said Augusta, completely at her ease. "Nevertheless, there are a few details…Incidentally, you do mean to invite that man, Sirius Black, I take it?"

"Well, he is Harry's godfather," said Lily apologetically.

Augusta considered her. Lily had the uncomfortable suspicion that she was wondering how anyone in their right mind could name Sirius Black as a responsible godfather, and could only be thankful her hostess's sense of propriety was too nice to permit of her asking this question aloud. Lily was unsure she could answer it at all satisfactorily.

"Yes," commented Augusta. "The Blacks have always been rather wild. Very old family, of course, but shockingly improvident. Furthermore, their numbers are so sadly depleted—most of them die young. Perhaps you should encourage your…friend to take more care of himself and others." Lily nodded, wondering if this was some sort of threat. "But, we were discussing the festivities," continued Augusta smoothly.

"Yes, of course," said Lily rather mechanically. "We are holding the party here—thank you for that, by the way; I'm quite sure I couldn't get our house ready in time—and you invited Neville's grandfather Callahan, though he probably won't come, and—"

"—and Neville's Uncle Algy, Aunt Midge, etcetera. Yes, quite so. I understand you and James desire the presence of that Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, yes? Probably enough people for a joint birthday celebration."

"It's a pity we couldn't invite more children the boys' age," Lily commented rather wistfully. She was thinking of youthful friendships and sibling rivalries. Siblings…

"You wish for another child," said Augusta. It wasn't a question. Lily was rather disconcerted, though she supposed she ought to have known Augusta would be able to guess. Lily rather suspected her of being more proficient in Legilimency than a conversation with Albus Dumbledore would lead one to believe.

"I don't know," Lily said then. "It's just…I love James, of course, but…well, I feel like there's something missing. Especially lately. You know, at first we were always getting into these life or death situations, and then it's always easy to find something to discuss. But now…well, he's hardly ever around, and I know he's never quite gotten over what a fabulous housewife I'm _not_, and…the truth is, the only times I ever feel really happy or like myself are when I'm with Harry, or when I'm working in my lab-slash-studio. I guess I just don't think this can be all there is."

"Hmmm," said Augusta, leaning back in her chair. "You feel your marriage is flagging, and your solution is having another child. Do you believe that will solve the problem?"

"How can I, when I don't know what the problem is?" demanded Lily. "Logically, there is no problem. I have a brave and devoted husband, a wonderful, beautiful child, a lovely, well-put-together house, kind friends who are always ready to babysit, and enough money to keep me well supplied with potions ingredients and art supplies. And, I'm no longer in near constant danger. What more could one wish for?"

Augusta studied her. "I think you know."

"Whatever." Lily made to brush the unpleasant topic aside.

"You know," said Augusta slowly. "You may be right, and there is something missing. But is it worth agonizing over? After all, can you be sure these difficulties wouldn't disappear with another child, or an occupation, to redirect your thoughts? You know, you really can't expect miracles."

"That's just it," complained Lily. "You can't expect them, but usually they _could_ happen if only you don't do something to completely mess them up. And I don't need an occupation—or rather, I already have my vocation. You know I'm an excellent potioneer, and I've taken up painting as well. That's not the problem."

Augusta would have continued her analysis of Lily's difficulties, but at that moment Harry shrieked, "No, Nev! Mom says paint's not for eating!" and both women turned and raced over to the layered newspapers.

Neville, streaks of green and blue around his mouth, wore an innocent expression. Augusta picked him up and immediately began scolding. Lily drew her wand and waved it at the painting supplies, and they instantly packed themselves up.

Harry tugged at her skirt, and pointed at the results of his labors. While Lily duly admired, Augusta cleaned Neville's mouth and clothing.

"Is he all right?" Lily asked.

"I think he's ingested some of the paint," replied Augusta disapprovingly.

"Well, if you want I can mix something up," Lily offered. Augusta was aware of her potion-making skill.

"No thanks," declined that lady, eyeing Lily askance.

"Oh, why not? You know I'm an expert," cajoled Lily, a little hurt.

"Yes, but just because you're brilliant doesn't mean you know what you're doing," Augusta informed her. "Besides, 'antidotes are anti-don'ts unless approved by a qualified Healer.' I'm taking him to St. Mungo's, just to be safe."

"Okay, but there are easier ways," said Lily lightly, scooping Harry into her arms and Summoning their belongings. "We'll get out of your way. Have fun at the hospital!"

"Thanks for the interesting chat about your marriage," said Augusta. Lily gave her a pained smile. Really, she hadn't meant to confide so much. But ever since…well, for the past eight years or so, she had keenly felt the lack of a true confidante—even more so since Alice and Frank's deaths. It had felt good to talk to someone—even if she hadn't explained quite everything. Still, she wondered how much Augusta knew or guessed about her secrets. Her perspicacity was a little…disconcerting.

Augusta, a high stickler, could never consent to an informal leave-taking; nonetheless, in a remarkably short time Lily and Harry were on their way. Although she could have taken him by Side-Along Apparition, Lily had read an article on the perils of subjecting children to Apparition too young, and she preferred that more traumatic, but less disturbing to one's molecular structure, mode of transport: the Knight Bus.

Eventually, this purple equipage set mother and son down at the corner of their street. They walked for some little way, Harry's eyelids drooping (it was still early afternoon, but he was due for a nap) and eventually Lily carried him the few remaining strides to her own front door.

She pulled out her wand and tapped the lock, which undid itself in a satisfyingly complex way, and climbed the stairs softly, so as not to disturb Harry. She tiptoed across to his room, laid him in his crib, and set down her bag and his toys. She slipped off her sensible shoes (Lily secretly longed for the sort of elaborate, delicate shoes one wore to evening parties, but considered these impractical) and shook out her long red hair. Harry slept peacefully. Lily smiled down at him for a moment, and then crossed the hall to the room she and James shared.

Most unusually, the door was shut. Bewildered, but not alarmed, Lily reached out and turned the knob. It squeaked slightly, and the door swung open.

Lily's eyes widened in shock: there, on the bed, were her husband James and her least favorite (and sole surviving) Hogwarts roommate, Mary—in a _very _compromising position!


	13. The Depths of Perfection

**The Depths of Perfection**

Lily turned without a word, recoiling from the doorway of the bedroom. She would never again think of it as _her_ room. How he could have—! Shocked and furious, she strode toward her son's room. A thought struck her, and she raised her wand. Her wardrobe followed her down the hall.

James Potter was having a bad day. That morning, he had been forced to pay the bills, because Lily had left it so late this July. Lunch had been soggy leftovers because his wife was in a hurry to drink tea with formidable Augusta Longbottom. And now, his wife—his precious Lily!—had walked in (several hours too early, he reflected indignantly) and seen him with Mary. Perhaps she hadn't seen so very much—a man might hope. It was going to be bad enough as it was, thought James angrily as he yanked his clothes on. Mary gazed limpidly at him from the bed, idly playing with a blonde curl. She really was adorable, thought James. Nothing on Lily, of course—that went without saying—his wife was everywhere considered perfection—but still, blonde, buxom Mary was definitely a cute little thing.

By the time James reached the doorway of his son's bedroom, fully clothed, Lily's entire wardrobe had miraculously stuffed itself into a suitcase, and Harry's clothes, toys, and miscellaneous necessary items (toothpaste, etc) were in the act of cramming themselves into a second piece of luggage. Moreover, a third suitcase was open on the floor, and James thought he could hear the faint clinking of glass emanating from Lily's potions ingredients as they made their way upstairs.

"Lily, wait!" he exclaimed, nervously ruffling his hair.

She turned to face him, instinctively placing herself between him and the crib. Harry still slept peacefully. James frowned; surely she didn't think she had to protect his son from him?!

"Lily, listen! What happened with Mary—it means nothing to me, I swear!"

Lily stared at him. "How can you say that?" she demanded disbelievingly. Then she seemed to dismiss him. He ducked as her potions ingredients entered the room and began packing themselves neatly, with the help of newspaper to protect their fragility.

"Look, Mary and I—she's just—we have fun, but—you're my_ wife_!"

Lily stared at him, contemptuous revulsion in her face. "Not for long," she muttered. She shoved her feet into her sensible shoes and pointed her wand in the direction of the linen closet. Harry's spare sheets and blankets floated into the room.

"Lily, stop!" exclaimed James, losing control of his temper. He grabbed Lily's arms and shook her. She stared at him, an icy statue of disdain. "Lily, I know you're angry," he began. "And you have every right to be, but this doesn't mean anything! You and I, together forever, that's the important thing! I love you, Lily!"

"You don't even know me," snarled Lily, struggling in his grasp. "Take your hands off me!"

"You don't understand—" began James, still not releasing her.

"Oh, don't I?" she asked sarcastically. She managed to turn her wrist so her wand pointed at his fingers, and cast a nonverbal Stinging Hex. He let her go with a muffled oath. "Tell it to my lawyer!"

James blanched. "What?" he gasped. "Look, Lily, I know I'm not perfect, but you can't _leave_ me!"

"You told me I was the perfect woman," said Lily musingly. "I guess you changed your mind!"

"No, no!" cried James in protest.

"Well, you must have," Lily said, still in that infuriatingly thoughtful tone. "After all, you and Mary looked pretty cozy—how long has this been going on, anyway? You and her, behind my back? I thought the vows we shared meant something, but you obviously didn't! You know, James, I've made sacrifices for this marriage. I've tried really hard to make our relationship work. And all the time, you've been sleeping around?"

"Not all the time," James started to say, chagrined. Mid-sentence he changed his mind. Why should she have all the right on her side? As though he hadn't made sacrifices—! It was too much. "What gives you the right to reproach me?" he demanded. Lily uttered a disbelieving sound. "Okay, so I've made mistakes! But I've done my part to keep this working! You're the one who's too afraid to give me another chance! Lots of marriages come back stronger from…something like this! I can't believe you're just going to give up! After all I've done for you and given you—it's my money that bought this house, and everything in it! You really are an ungrateful virago, aren't you?"

Lily, incensed, demanded, "So I'm Cinderella to your Prince Charming, is that it?"

"Cinderella?" inquired James, momentarily completely bewildered.

"Mommy?" said Harry plaintively from the crib.

As one, James and Lily turned to one another and accused, "You woke the baby!"

James stepped toward the crib, but was met by such a glare from Lily that he involuntarily stepped back a pace. She scooped Harry out of his crib and into her arms. Harry, reassured by this sign of maternal attention, clutched Hungy II and surveyed the room. By this point, Lily's suitcases were packed and arranged neatly near the door. She strode toward them, challenging James to impede her progress.

This he attempted to do, saying, "Wait, Lily! I won't let you go! We have to talk!"

She glared at him. "Oh," she said softly, "I think we're done."

Her suitcases followed her down the stairs and out the front door, while James watched her go. In that moment, he felt everything he'd ever wanted in this life was moving steadily away from him. Then he returned to the bedroom.

Mary McDonald, a buxom blonde in the early twenties (the same age, in fact, as James and Lily Potter) had never been known for her strong moral sense. Nor was she prone to thinking of others besides herself. Nevertheless, when James walked back into the room, tight-lipped and furious, she was conscious of a feeling of remorse. The house was far from soundproof, and thus much of the Potters' quarrel had been audible to her (though she would never betray this to either of the principals), and James's description of their affair had seemed to her inadequate and inaccurate. Still, she had never thought she would feel so guilty about being The Other Woman.

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"So…" Remus Lupin began from his perch on a stool in the Potters' kitchen. Sirius Black glanced down at him from where he stood, stirring the stew. "Now's your chance," said Remus, jerking his head toward the living room. Visible from the two friends' position sat James Ferdinand Potter, his head in his hands.

"Chance?" asked Sirius distractedly.

"Oh, come on," said Remus impatiently. "This is what you've been waiting for—swoop in! Comfort poor Prongs whose wife left him. You told me you loved him."

"Sure, of course I do," said Sirius. "I love you, too."

"You know what I mean!" Remus insisted. "And you're just trying to provoke me. I know you reckon James sees you as a brother, so who's fault is it he doesn't know your feelings for him are far from brotherly?"

"Lily's," said Sirius without hesitation. "But…listen, Moony. I don't want to get in the way of this lovers' spat. They'll probably be together again in a week, right?"

"I don't think so," said Remus grimly. "Not after James didn't mention to Lily (for at least four months) that he was seeing Mary on the side. Lily's a proud woman, Sirius. Besides, he hurt her. I don't think she's coming back."

"I never thought I'd live to see the day those two called it quits," commented Sirius. "But, Moony, about that other thing…well, I'm here for James, but only in a best friend way. The fact is, Remy, I just met the most amazing girl."

"A girl? You?" Remus teased. "Is this the usual four dates maximum, or are you actually serious about a girl for once, Sirius?"

"Oh, I'm definitely in earnest," said Sirius, not even registering the play on his name. "She's really astonishing. The most unusual person I've ever met—including you lot, and every member of my regrettable family. She's smart, attractive—reminds me a bit of Marlene, only she takes life seriously, and she's just so…extraordinary."

"Wow," said Remus. "So you're sure this is more than a casual intrigue, huh? What's her name?"

"Josephine," breathed Sirius reverently. Shocked (and a little fearful—usually, that kind of admiration was difficult to achieve without a love potion—although James had always breathed "Evans" in much the same tone), Remus wondered if Sirius was going to be any help at all in this time of crisis. Here was James, going through something really difficult, and needing his friends more than ever. And here was Sirius, the eternal playboy, in raptures (actual raptures!) over some girl. It occurred to Remus to ask for more detailed information—this Josephine's last name, appearance, age, wealth, Hogwarts House, blood status, personal hobbies, job, family, etc—but, on the whole, he felt his other black-haired best friend was in greater need of a sympathetic ear.

Remus left Sirius to the stew, and strolled into the living room. James greeted him with a mournful sigh.

"Why did she go?" he asked pathetically. "I'm nothing without her! I've spent most of my life trying to please her! She's my everything! She took Harry, you know. How dare she? Trying to set my own son against me. What's her problem, anyway? It's not like I could help having an affair when she's never around! Always working in that damn lab—you know, school's out, Lily-Vanilly! No need to be mixing those foul brews anymore! No more Slughorn to impress! I gave her everything. What a b—w—itch! Do you think this is because of what happened with Peter? I couldn't protect her—trusted the wrong man! Sorry about that, Moony old friend. She never wanted him as Secret-Keeper. Dumbledore! What an interfering—it's all his fault!"

Remus had swallowed much of this speech, but the slight on Dumbledore he could not allow to pass. "What do you mean, Prongs?" he asked gently.

"Dumbledore! If he'd just expelled Snivellus, this would never have happened!"

"Wait," said Remus, irritated. "You're telling me, if Dumbledore had expelled Snape (for what, anyway? Seems to me he never put quite as many toes over the line as we did), you wouldn't have cheated on Lily after you guys had been married for four years with her fourth bridesmaid? For four months?"

James had the grace to look slightly discomfited. "Well," he mumbled. "Something like that."

"Dinner is served!" cried Sirius, sweeping into the room with the soup tureen suspended in air before him. Remus was left with the distinct impression he was enjoying the situation a little too much. Sirius, always an apt performer, even wore one of Lily's aprons (bearing the legend, "Witch's Brew").

As they ate, James periodically heaved a heavy sigh, and Sirius assumed the part of Supportive Friend, and patted him on the back. Remus ate quickly, thankful for the sustenance. Odd jobs would never bring him anywhere near the monetary heights enjoyed by his two best friends.

"I miss her!" wailed James, once the stew had been consumed.

"We know, Prongs," said Sirius reassuringly. "We know."

"I don't understand! Why is she so unreasonable?" James demanded.

"Well, our Lily-Vanilly has always been the teensiest bit judgmental," commented Sirius. "Not to mention temperamental, violent, impulsive, bossy, too smart by half, and alarmingly feminist. I always told you she was a shrew."

"I don't care!" wailed James. "I just want her back!"

"Give her some time," suggested Remus. "She probably needs to be by herself right now."

"Where is she?" lamented James, distraught. "Where could she have gone?"


	14. Old Friends

**Old Friends **

'_Home is the place that when you have to go there, they have to take you in.'_

Severus Snape was not much given to hallucination, nor was he prone to allowing his imagination to overcome his reason (in spite of temptation). Consequently, when he opened his door on the evening of July 28, 1983, disbelief warred with desperate hope as he gazed upon a Vision.

Lily's long red hair fell down her back in heavy waves. She wore a dark green trench coat over jeans and sensible shoes. And she was wearing the gold locket he'd given her for her sixteenth birthday. In her arms was a sleeping child, black-haired and adorable, in whom Severus had little trouble recognizing Harry Potter. Behind her four or five suitcases waited in line upon the pavement. Her eyes seemed greener than ever, and they were outlined by dark shadows traced by stress. Her face was like a beautiful mask, and only her eyes betrayed her emotion. They seemed to drink him in with a desperation Severus felt sure was mirrored in his own face.

They stood transfixed for a long moment, each noting changes in the other wrought by time. At last she spoke, and for the first time in his entire life, Severus Snape believed in miracles.

"I need your help," said Lily Sunshine Evans Potter.

With a supreme effort, Severus recovered a semblance of composure. He stepped aside slightly, and made a welcoming gesture. They exchanged another look fraught with question and emotion. Then Lily stepped over the threshold.

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That night, she only told him the bare facts of what had happened: Potter's betrayal and her desire to cut the knot that she had come to regard as an entanglement. It was enough to confirm him in the suspicion that Potter was little better than a madman, or a fool. How else could he have so much as looked at another woman (much less had an affair with one) when he lived with Lily? But then, he had always doubted Potter's good sense.

Lily took the bed, and Severus slept on the couch. She unpacked the suitcase containing Harry's things immediately, and read him a bedtime story in spite of her own inner turmoil. In truth, the instant she entered the rickety house on Spinner's End that Severus had never had the heart to get rid of, she pervaded it with her dauntless, ruthless spirit (and with her preferred vanilla scent). Severus had never been happier in his life. Certainly, they had much to talk about—their quarrel of years ago, his own brief but terrifying and intense career as a Death Eater, her miraculous and accidental escape from certain death at the hands of the Dark Lord (no thanks to that rat, that worm—Severus believed there existed no word bad enough to describe him)—Peter Pettigrew, Severus's work as a spy, his work as a Potions professor, and her future plans, to begin with. But, when she had needed help and hadn't known where to turn, she had come to _him_. Severus Snape was _ecstatic_.

The next morning, Severus woke with the heart stopping fear that Lily's arrival had been a dream—and then opened his eyes, felt the couch digging uncomfortably into his back, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He was engaged in making his guests breakfast when Lily swept into the kitchen, her eyes snapping. Severus thought it might be with fury, or guilt, or fear, or righteousness, or—

"Okay, look," said Lily forthrightly. "I came here last night because I couldn't think where else to go, but if you're somehow still secretly evil, or you reckon you need your privacy or whatever, then Harry and I'll get out of here right now." She paused and looked around the kitchen. Her eyes alighted on the golden pancakes waiting on a plate, and the coffee pot on the stove, and she brightened perceptibly.

"Don't go," said Severus, vowing that this time he wouldn't hesitate to beg, if necessary.

Casually, Lily perched on the counter, and nudged the refrigerator open with her foot. "Dumbledore said you were a spy for the Order," she commented, scanning the refrigerator for maple syrup.

"Yes." His tone was not encouraging, but Lily refused to be daunted.

"And," she began, then muttered a Summoning Charm under her breath. The maple syrup floated to the counter. She nudged the refrigerator closed again, and turned to give him her undivided attention. "Dumbledore told me you told him Voldemort knew about the prophecy."

Severus cringed. Now she knew the worst! How could Dumbledore betray him like that? Lily knew—Lily knew it was his fault Voldemort had gone after her son, his fault the Dark Lord knew about the prophecy in the first place! Guilt assailed him.

"And I want to thank you," Lily was saying. "You saved us—we got the warning in time—although, then, of course, it was totally wasted because I didn't trust my intuition and veto that rat as our Secret-Keeper—but, ten to one, if Sirius had done it himself, he would have told Peter the secret, so it wouldn't have mattered, I suppose—the point is, you knew Voldemort was after us, and you told Dumbledore, and then you were a spy, which was incredibly brave, and thanks to you we were at least marginally better prepared—you're a hero, Sev. Thank you. Thank you for trying to save my son."

Severus was speechless for a moment. Then he forced himself to say it: "Lily, don't thank me. If I had never heard that prophecy, the Dark Lord would never have come after you."

"Well," said Lily, "You're wrong there, of course. I'm quite sure one can't defy Voldemort three times without rather irritating the man. Besides which, my birth would always have made me a target. But that's not the point. You made a mistake; but you atoned for it. It was enough to make you see what a terrible evil Voldemort was—you were shocked out of doing 'the done thing.' That's why you joined, isn't it? All your friends were doing it."

"They're not my friends," said Severus coldly. "But yes," he added after a moment, almost to himself. "I suppose I did do it because of them. At first, it was easy to see in the Dark Lord a great leader, a fighter against tyranny (you know the Ministry has never been democratic) but then, of course, one gets to know him better. And by then, it's too late. I was trapped. One doesn't quit the Death Eaters. Under the circumstances, approaching Dumbledore was the only option left to me—I couldn't leave you in danger. After that, everything fell into place. I told him Voldemort's plans, he promised to protect you (though from the sound of it, he didn't do much of that) and he gave me a job, teaching Potions. So," he said, glancing at her, "that's my story—what's happened since…Hogwarts. Want to tell me yours now, or after breakfast?"

"Oh, after breakfast," said Lily, sliding off the counter and seating herself at the table. "This is amazing. I've never had anyone make me breakfast before—or at least, not since I was a girl."

"Do you…want to wake your son?" Severus asked, wondering how she planned to handle that. The child was only three—how did she expect to raise him on her own? Would she dramatically refuse to see Potter? Severus foresaw that he was doomed to help look after the child, and determined (for Lily's sake) to overcome his instinctive dislike of anything that looked _that_ much like Potter.

"Nah," decided Lily. "He's incredibly temperamental if he doesn't get enough sleep, and I don't know how much yesterday wore him out." She must have noticed something in his expression; she continued, "You know, my son has a name. In fact, he has three, but I suppose I can overlook it if you're not fond of the last two. He's a bright child—already asking me about the written word, numbers (he deduced the existence of additive inverses last year), and plants—not to mention painting. He's also exhibited some magical talent—for one thing, if you cut his hair so it's not all over the place, it grows back in the next couple of minutes. He's turning three in two days, and he's really an adorable—oh!" She gasped, and Severus, serving the pancakes, coffee, and freshly squeezed orange juice, raised his eyebrows.

"His birthday," she explained. "What will Augusta think—I can't go. I can't go and pretend like everything's normal!"

"I ascertain there are birthday festivities planned, and you feel you cannot attend because of Potter's abominable behavior?"

"Well, I guess, but—Augusta will be disappointed. We meant this year to be special! Not that—do you think I ought to explain in person, or will a note suffice?"

"Augusta Longbottom?" Severus inquired. Lily nodded. "In person," said Severus decisively.

"You know her?" asked Lily.

"Only by reputation. Do _you_ think she'd prefer a note?"

"Oh, never!" Lily sighed, but seemed resigned. She dug in to the pancakes, and for a few minutes there was comfortable silence. "This is delicious!" she said after awhile. "Well, I suppose that's that then; I'll go this afternoon—will you watch Harry?"

"Of course." Severus did not betray his misgiving at this prospect. How on earth was he supposed to entertain a rambunctious three-year-old? Come to think of it, he ought to lock up his Potions laboratory. Much Lily might forgive, but causing (however accidentally) her child to ingest the contents of any of his experimental beakers would probably be beyond her remarkable powers.

"Severus?" Lily asked, eyes narrowing as a sudden thought occurred to her. "Where's your mother?"

Severus looked down at his plate—he couldn't bear to meet her eyes as he answered, "My mother died two years ago."

"Oh, Sev," exclaimed Lily, touched by his stoicism and sad for Eileen Snape, whom she'd known and liked. "I'm so sorry."

Severus was surprised to find himself not shrinking away from her pity. He looked up and met her eyes. She reached out, as though to comfort him, and then stopped as a thought occurred to her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she complained, her fingers curling into a fist.

"You were busy. I didn't know how much you'd care, or even if you'd want to know," said Severus bitterly. Lily glared at him.

"Didn't think I'd care? Sev, how could I not care?"

"What does Mrs. James Potter have to do with Eileen Snape of Spinner's End?" countered Severus. Lily frowned thoughtfully. Although that would hardly have weighed with her, it would be idle to deny that James was hardly kindly disposed toward anyone with the surname Snape.

"Besides," continued Severus after a moment. "She was already gone—for years, I brought her food, and she just sat in her room, staring at the wall. Ever since—" he paused, nerving himself to say it. "Ever since my father died."

"I know," said Lily softly.

"It's just…why didn't she try harder? It's not like he was so great—always drunk and yelling…he was an abusive bastard who didn't deserve her. Why wouldn't she be grateful to be free of that?"

"She loved him," said Lily with certainty. "And she loved you."

"I hope so," admitted Severus, missing his mother. No matter how angry he was at her for the catatonia that had robbed them of more time together, he would never forget the times she had taken an interest, had cared. When she taught him to read, when she brought him to Diagon Alley to buy secondhand school supplies, when he brought Lily home for the first time and she was so gracious and kind…

"I know so," said Lily, bringing him back to the present. They shared an intimate smile.


	15. Aftermath And AfterAftermath

**Aftermath (And **_**After**_**-Aftermath)**

As it turned out, Lily wasn't able to recount her tale of woe to Severus that morning. Although she wanted his impressions of what had happened (and was rather ashamedly looking forward to the snide remarks he would certainly make about James), she couldn't be sorry. She wouldn't have traded their tête-à-tête for anything. It was surprising how easy it was to talk to Sev; she had worried their rather complicated past might prove an impediment, but far from it: she had missed talking to Sev, had missed seeing him… He was even more handsome than ever—though she doubted others would see it—and so heartbreakingly familiar and strange all at once—and she knew now that he had never stopped being her best friend, not _really_.

Harry had woken and demanded her immediate attention after breakfast; she'd had to tell him things would be different now, that he wouldn't see his father for a few days at least. His tears and questions had rather exhausted her, especially because she had no idea how to answer them. Severus's peace offering of food had helped.

Then, after lunch (once more casually yet deliciously prepared by Severus) she had sallied forth, rather against her will, to confront that most formidable lady, Augusta Longbottom. She still flushed with fury when she thought of that matron's advice.

"So your husband had an affair. I don't know what you're so upset about! Men have these regrettable lapses, you know. At least, most do. Can you honestly say you've never looked at another man? Not that it's the same thing at all, of course. We women have to worry about the succession. In my day, divorce was not tolerated. The most dignified course is to simply look over it. You are still coming to the celebration, aren't you? Lily, don't let this…small wrinkle…ruin your life."

If anything was necessary to completely decide Lily not to come to the party, this was it. She informed Augusta of her decision icily, behaving (had she but known it) much more in the style affected by pureblood ladies of distinction than any of her previous half-hearted attempts. She swept out to the manner born, and Apparated home—or rather, Spinner's End. She really ought not to think of it as home, she supposed. She hadn't even been there in years.

At last, she and Sev were granted an opportunity to talk. Harry was taking his afternoon nap (Lily was quite pleased to see Sev and Harry bonding over a Muggle game of Pick-Up-Sticks—the concentration required was enough to earn Severus's approval, and Harry loved the game).

"Well?" he asked simply.

For a moment, she didn't speak. She recognized his concern for her, but wasn't entirely sure how to respond to it. She felt confused, and rather at a loss.

"It's just…" she said at last. "I don't understand. He said he loved me. How could he do this to me? I mean, is it me? Am I somehow not good enough?" Anguish sounded in her voice; this was her greatest fear.

"Lily," murmured Severus reassuringly. "You, not good enough? You are the most amazing person in the world!"

"Am I?" she asked, insensibly cheered. A moment's thought, however, and she made her case. "I'm not amazing—I'm a terrible housewife! I know James was disappointed in me—we're not exactly from the same worlds! I mean, there he is, and other than the fact that he has morals, he's just like all your evil friends—"

"They're not exactly my _friends_," Sev pointed out.

"Well, but they're rich and pureblood, like James! He's grown up in a world I'll never truly belong to! I'm not even much of a witch! I can't do household spells, and I still think cooking the Muggle way is lots easier! At least then, if it's inedible, it probably won't turn you into a frog!" Angrily, Lily began to pace.

Abruptly, her manner changed. Her lip quivered. "Or…what if it's because he's not…I mean, he doesn't…what if I'm not attractive enough for him?"

Severus tensed. Then he said deliberately, "A man would have to be blind, deaf, and half-_dead_ not to desire you."

Suddenly, Lily felt rather hot. She dragged her hands through her hair and unconsciously shifted her weight onto one hip. Then she frowned. The words _much too soon, _flitted across her mind before burying themselves in her unconscious.

Instead of responding to the charged atmosphere, she stepped around it (verbally, that is). "It's not just that. I mean, what about me? James always says I'm beautiful, but I'm not sure he really knows _me_. I mean me the person. Like how he thinks it's stupid that I still care about brewing potions in my lab off the pantry. He doesn't even know about my painting. And when has he ever given a thought to how completely unsuited I am to take care of the house? Plus, you wouldn't believe how many times we'll be talking about something unexceptional and he'll suddenly come out with some truly ridiculous statement—you know, he claims not to care about blood status, but he doesn't want Harry playing with the Muggle children down the lane. And he doesn't think he should have to take care of Harry, either. I'm the woman, so I should be happy sitting at home all day taking care of the house and the children. Not that I'm _not_, exactly—except…I don't know. I suppose that's just me being silly."

"You're not silly. You wanted a more egalitarian marriage," summed up Severus. "Potter's a fool," he added casually.

"And then I find out he and Mary have been having an affair for months!" complained Lily. "I mean, I just don't get it. How can he be so casual about it? He doesn't love her—certainly not more than he loves me. If he loves me, which I doubt. I mean, it isn't as though _he_ wants a divorce. Going behind my back—! In our bed—! How could he? _How could he do this?_ I trusted him! I thought he was a good man, but he betrayed me."

Severus shifted uncomfortably. Lily's attention focused on him instantly. "What is it?" she demanded.

Severus took a deep breath. "I betrayed you," he said softly, ashamed to admit it, and ashamed to compare himself to Potter. He would have given anything to be the better man, but how could he be? She was angry now, but perhaps she would forgive Potter. Or perhaps she wouldn't forgive either of them. Perhaps they wouldn't deserve it.

"No," said Lily softly, sinking into a chair opposite him and fixing her gaze on his face. "You didn't betray me."

"Of course I did!" exclaimed Severus angrily. "I think about it every day! I hurt you, and I would do anything to take it back!"

"I know," she said. "But that's not what I meant. You didn't betray _me_, Sev; you betrayed my principles. There is a difference. Back then, I thought that what you said to me was the worst thing anyone could do. But I was wrong. I forgave you, you know."

"Why?" he asked softly.

"Because you made up for it. You changed, Severus. You turned spy, you tried to save my son—how could I not forgive you? I trust you. You're a good man, Sev. I believe in you."

Their eyes met; Lily felt herself leaning forward. Severus watched her, and she was so close she could see the tears in the corners of his eyes. He was too proud to let them fall, but she knew what her words had meant to him. Everything seemed to stand still, and they were the only two people in the world.

"Lily," said Severus huskily.

"Mommy!" cried a petulant, sleepy voice from the bedroom. Lily started up as though she'd been struck; Severus rose and stepped back a pace.


	16. Learning Experience

**Learning Experience**

Eventually, Lily and Severus settled into a routine. Severus even found a good school in the neighborhood for Harry to attend in the fall. Neither mentioned their own relationship, although Lily continued to complain about James at least once a day. Severus, in a moment of foresight, owled Albus Dumbledore and requested a sabbatical for the coming semester.

Lily was forced to listen to Augusta's account of the birthday party. Augusta, though still inclined to disapprove of Lily's behavior, couldn't bring herself to cut the connection. She claimed this was out of regard for Neville's friendship with Harry, but the suspicion that she herself would be loath to lose Lily's companionship did obtrude.

It seemed James, Sirius and Remus had in fact attended the party—James disconsolate, Remus circumspect, and Sirius subdued but happy (with an incredibly strange girl in tow). What sort of strange girl? Nothing extraordinary to look at—pretty enough, Augusta supposed. Expression vague, except when discussion turned to hippogriffs. How were hippogriffs involved? Augusta was sure she couldn't say. It seemed the girl bred them—rode them as well, considered the creatures quite the safest way to travel. Absolutely insane? Well, perhaps not absolutely, but quite reckless and clearly spendthrift. Wearing a beautiful gown with a stain on the skirt and another on the left shoulder. No, no attempt to hide it. Lots of trailing, gauzy shawls and mismatched jewelry. Yes, expensive. No, not the clingy sort at all. Came with Sirius Black, but didn't hang on his every word—didn't listen to quite a few, in fact. Strange girl.

Lily was mildly interested in this, since What's-Her-Name really didn't sound like Sirius's type. It was only after she'd left Longbottom Manor that she realized she'd forgotten to ask What's-Her-Name's hair color. If Sirius had a preference, it was for blondes. Still, perhaps he was turning over a new leaf.

James Potter, on the other hand, was up to his old tricks with a vengeance. He sent Lily a dozen red roses; she sent him the name and address of her divorce attorney. He sent her a box of chocolates; she returned them unopened. He sent her love poems; Severus found them verbatim in an old poetry book of his mother's. He sent her lilies; she sent him an official copy of their summons to court.

Divorce cases were still somewhat rare in the Wizarding world, but there was precedent, and adultery was considered reasonable cause. Lily brought Harry with her (for the custody battle), and Severus escorted them. James looked charming and assured, if annoyed. Initially, the court was better disposed toward him than toward Lily. After all, Lily made no secret of her friendship with Severus, and James was a Potter, a war hero, a _Potter_, and a highly personable young man.

However, Lily Evans hadn't been the most popular girl in school for nothing.

She'd successfully charmed her lawyer; he was quite young, and very nervous, but with an intimate knowledge of the law. When they'd first met, he had quite firmly objected to her choice of sanctuary; she'd tried to explain that it wasn't a choice, not really, more of an inevitability, and anyway, weren't they supposed to be talking about James? Her lawyer had nervously explained that James might very well claim that it was she who'd had an affair with Severus, rather than he with Mary. This hadn't occurred to Lily, and she was inclined to dismiss it. She couldn't imagine James voluntarily accusing her of having an affair, since he would know it for a lie, and there was his pride to consider, and especially not with Severus. Still, presumably he would also have a lawyer…

"Mr. Potter and Miss McDonald may deny everything," her lawyer had suggested apprehensively.

Immediately, Lily's worried frown disappeared, to be replaced by a look of grim determination. "I can handle Mary," she said firmly. It cost her something to even talk to the woman who'd betrayed her, but she'd given it her best shot. Now all she could do was wait.

Lily couldn't bring herself to lie, but the truth proved damning enough: James charmed the court, but Mary gave detailed evidence concerning the affair, glaring at James the whole time for putting her through this uncomfortable process. Finally, James admitted to the affair, looking steadily more harassed. Severus stood guard over Harry while Lily gave what evidence she could. The judge seemed to approve her forthright attitude.

At length, Lily's fortitude and charm were extolled; she was awarded custody of Harry, and a certain not-to-be-despised sum in alimony. The divorce papers were finalized; at last, the whole ordeal was over.

On her way out, Lily stopped by James. He stood forlorn, alone, and extremely irritated. "We should arrange for when Harry will visit you," Lily suggested.

"This is so unfair," grumbled James. "He's my _son_!"

"Next weekend; good idea, darling," Lily cooed coolly. "I'll just drop him off at your place?"

"You're corrupting him," accused James quietly.

Lily was genuinely shocked. "I'm corrupting him? _I'm_ corrupting him?"

"I heard you were staying with Snape; it's true, isn't it? Godric, how could you be so stupid?"

"_Excuse me_?" said Lily frigidly.

"He's a Death Eater, Lily. You can't trust him!"

"Thankfully," Lily said, with credible calm, "your wishes are no longer my concern. Excuse me." She made to sweep past him, but his hand closed around her wrist.

"I'm serious. Lily, do you honestly trust Snape?"

He looked so anguished that Lily was moved to respond—perhaps he really was afraid for Harry—and she spoke, almost as though she were simply thinking aloud. "I would trust Severus with my life."

He recoiled, but did not loose her wrist.

Roused to a sense of her surroundings, she said dangerously, "_Let go of me_!"

"Not until you listen. Lily, I love you! Don't do this. Don't leave me!"

"Daddy! Daddy!" cried Harry, releasing Severus's hand as the two of them approached, and running forward. James caught his son up in his arms.

"Harry! Listen—" holding him so their eyes met—"your mother may have told you, I'm not going to be around so much anymore. But you'll still see me, and I love you. I love you so much!" James hugged Harry again while Lily and Severus watched, standing side by side. Then he put his son down. James attempted a brave smile, and said cheerfully, "Next weekend, right? See you soon, Prongslet!"

Harry clung to James. "Daddy, why won't you be around?" he complained.

James exchanged a wry look with Lily. In spite of herself, she felt a tug on her heartstrings. Her resolve didn't waver, but she felt all the sorrow the divorce would bring her son. Perhaps she wasn't doing a very good job of protecting him from the horrors of the world. But then, that thought had occurred to her before. She shivered a little, and Severus flung himself out of his light fall cloak and put it around her shoulders. She pulled it close, watching Harry and James.

Harry was hard to deal with all the way home, and guilt felt heavy in Lily's stomach. That night Harry cried himself to sleep, and Lily fretted her way to slumber, thoughts racing through her mind.

It didn't occur to her until she woke at two a.m., abruptly and completely, that _she was free._


	17. Lily's Epiphany

**Lily's Epiphany**

"Couldn't sleep?" Lily asked, standing in the library doorway. It was two a.m. on October 15, 1983—the day after Lily and James's divorce had been finalized.

Severus shut his book, and glanced inquiringly at her. His eyes ran appreciatively (if covertly) over her thin silk nightgown. "No. You?"

"As you see." Lily walked into the room and sank down on the sofa. She watched Severus, her eyes unreadable. "So, I've been thinking. I'm divorced. Traditionally, at this point, I would no doubt be searching for a new house—or apartment, since I'm not rich. You've let me stay here, but perhaps it is time I left?"

"Stay as long as you need," murmured Severus huskily, admirably concealing his dismay. She was leaving! She couldn't be leaving—not yet! How could he persuade her to stay?

She rose, and moved toward him. Severus held himself still, waiting. She bent over him, silk rustling, and whispered, "Thank you." Her lips brushed his cheek. With a huge effort, Severus refrained from catching her in his arms. Surely that was just a Platonic kiss. She didn't actually want—he couldn't take advantage of her fragile state—

Lily bent closer. She saw Severus's eyes on her chest—the nightgown was revealing—and smiled in triumph. Her lips brushed his, and then they were kissing—she felt Sev, his rigidly controlled desperation, the longing and loneliness he'd felt so long, the taste of him—a frisson seemed to go up her spine. At length, she broke the kiss, and gave him her most serious look.

"Do you love me?" Lily asked, staring bravely and directly into his eyes.

Severus, stunned and overjoyed by the kiss—that had _not_ been Platonic—only briefly wrestled with the worrying thought: _She's not herself. She just got divorced. What if this is all because of Potter? She doesn't really mean that she_—

"Yes," he whispered. Then, louder (in for a Knut, in for a Galleon), he continued, "By Salazar, Lily! Of course I love you! I've always loved you." He rose as he spoke, leaving only a small distance between them.

"Always?" she asked, her voice like a caress. Happiness shone from her brilliant green eyes. She tossed her long red hair confidently, and put her arms around his neck. "Did you love me when you first saw me at our playground?" she asked. "When you told me I belonged in Slytherin? When you called me…" he winced, but she continued anyway, her fingers tangling themselves in his hair. "…_Mudblood_? When you watched me marry James? When you knew Voldemort thought the prophecy was about my son, and you did everything you could to save him? When you risked your life to help bring Voldemort down? When you saw me on your doorstep two and a half months ago? When you stood by me today while I divorced James? When you saw me here, tonight…?" her voice was smooth and liquid, like golden syrup.

Severus looked into her eyes, seeing the unmistakable Lily-ness of them, and rejoicing that she was there, with him.

"Always. Every minute," he said, looking down at her with such tenderness that Lily marveled that this plan had never occurred to her before. She had always wondered, but this—! Joy seemed to radiate from her soul out her skin.

"Well," she said rather shyly, "Do you want to know the truth?"

He waited. She was looking down now, as though unsure of herself. This was unusual enough that he was almost worried. She took a deep breath, raised her eyes to his face, and said the words he would never forget:

"I've always loved you, too."

And now it was Severus who initiated their kiss. Kissing Lily was absolutely nothing like he could ever have imagined, and he treasured that knowledge because it told him once and for all this wasn't a dream. It was more like a miracle—Lily, in his arms, her strength, her passion—her arms around him, fingers tangling in his hair—her sweet vanilla scent—the taste of her—

Some time later, Lily and Severus sat curled together in an armchair, eyes drifting closed in the gentle glow of the firelight.

"I hope you know you're marrying me," said Severus possessively.

Lily leaned her head against his shoulder and laughed for pure joy. She felt Severus stiffen, affronted, and explained, "Oh, Sev! It's just—after all these years—you were a Death Eater and I married James and now it's like none of that is important anymore—honestly, I should have done this years ago." She turned in his arms so their eyes met. "Because I understand now. Severus Snape, _you are mine_."


	18. Just Engaged

**Just Engaged**

"Hey, sweetheart," Lily Sunshine Evans Potter (soon to be Snape) said softly, sitting down on the bed beside her three and a half year old son. "I have something I want to talk about."

"Okay," said Harry calmly. Ever since his mother had brought him here after that night when she and his father had quarreled so conclusively, he had been more quiet than usual. The truth was, he still didn't know how to process what had happened. Although this house was nice enough, he missed his own house. Sev was an interesting companion (and really excellent at almost any game of strategy) but he really missed his _father_. For a while, his mother had been sad all the time, which was naturally very upsetting. Still, she didn't look sad now, he thought, stealing a glance at her. Wild hope surged in his breast.

"Are we going home?" he asked eagerly.

"I'm afraid not." She looked sorry, but only for his sake. "Actually, we're going to stay here. And probably we'll spend part of every year at Hogwarts, which is the school you'll go to someday. I was thinking we would stay with Sev. How do you feel about that?"

"What about Dad?" Harry was definitely worried now. The other day in that strange, echoing room with all those people he'd never met had still not prepared him for the news that they were _never_ going home. His mother couldn't possibly mean that.

"You'll still see your father, Harry," said his mother. "But what happened between us is past repairing. I won't live with your father again. You'll stay with him every weekend or so, but most of the time you'll live with me and Sev. The important thing to remember is this, Harry: your father and I both love you very much. And the reason we split up had nothing to do with you."

"But why can't we just go back to Dad? Whatever he did, he's really sorry, and then we can be a happy family again!"

Lily shook her head. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"Why not?" he demanded in rising frustration.

His mother looked at him, as though wondering how much to say. Terrified, he asked, "Doesn't Dad love us anymore?"

"Harry, your father loves you," she said at once. "It's just…well, I love Sev. And I want us to be a family together."

"For always?" he asked suspiciously.

"For always," she said softly, eyes shining with a joy Harry wasn't sure he understood.

"You're not my father," he told Sev later. "You'll never be my father."

"No," Sev replied seriously, "I won't."

"Okay. What's for lunch?" Harry asked, uncomfortable with all this serious, forever talk.

"He took it well," commented Severus Snape later that afternoon, after Harry had gone to afternoon preschool with the neighborhood children.

"Yes. He likes you," agreed Lily.

"Can't imagine why. His father hates me." It was said casually, but Severus's dark eyes gleamed under his half-closed lids.

"So that's what this is about." Lily gave Sev a small, indulgent smile. Then her eyes grew serious. "Sev, James will always be part of my life. He's the father of my child. We were together for six years. But when I say I love you, it's not because he hates you. You and I…well, not to sound trite or anything, but I think we were always meant to be. You believe in magic?"

Her eyes sparkled; Severus, unable to keep out of his own eyes an answering gleam, bent across the table to kiss her smiling lips. She leaned closer, deepening their kiss; then she pulled away, sighing happily, and drew a small notebook towards her.

"So, what sort of wedding do you want to have? Big, small…?"

"Small. That way it'll be less work, and we can be married faster," said Sev decidedly. "Are you going to invite Potter?"

"Small, yes, I agree…oh, invite James?" Lily asked, looking up from her notebook in surprise. "Do you know, I hadn't even thought of that? How incredibly awkward! Does one invite one's ex-husband to one's next wedding? I suppose so—after all, he has been a big part of my life…I'll have to tell him in person, I daresay. Maybe I'll wait until we send the rest of the invitations…if he's heard it already from Sirius he'll be less likely to try and yell me into submission, or insist it isn't true, or something." She subsided into thoughtful silence.

"You want to invite Sirius Black?" asked Severus darkly.

"Yes. He's been very supportive over the years. And he's Harry's godfather." Lily frowned at Sev. Was he jealous of Sirius? Surely not—although they'd been friends for years, there was absolutely nothing romantic in Lily's relationship with Sirius. They were much too alike. Of course, Sev might still be upset about that Incident in the beginning of fifth year…In fact, thinking about it, Lily realized she was rather upset about that as well. How dare Sirius try to get Sev killed? First of all, it was wrong; second of all, he should have remembered that Sev was under her protection; and thirdly, it was _wrong_.

"Sirius Black," sighed Sev, clearly annoyed. "You do realize he almost caused me to be eaten by a werewolf?"

"Of course I do. But that was years ago. He's probably thought better of it by now, and in case he hasn't, I'll make sure our wedding date isn't a full moon. Even he wouldn't dare start a duel with you at a wedding."

"He would regret it," said Sev venomously.

Lily smiled in spite of herself. "I know, but I wouldn't really like it if you did anything irrevocable to Sirius, you know. He's an arrogant, impulsive, spoiled son of a _witch_, but he's a friend of mine. And he fights on the side of goodness and Light."

"All right." Sev still looked venomous, but at least he was being sensible.

There was a pause, while Lily wrote down names for the guest list: _Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Augusta and Neville Longbottom…Petunia Dursley(?)._

"There are a few people I want to invite," said Sev. Lily nodded for him to go ahead. "Albus Dumbledore: the other person I have to thank for my opportunity for redemption. And the Malfoys."

Lily had already written _Albus Dumbledore; Malf_, before these words fully penetrated her brain. Then she shrieked, "the _Malfoys_? They're evil! Aren't they?"

"They were Death Eaters, yes," said Sev calmly. "But they're good people."

Lily stared at him. If she weren't so angry, she would laugh at this contradictory statement. "They're evil, Sev! Evil!" she complained. How was that not obvious? Death Eater equals evil. It was a simple equation.

"They're redeemable."

"So they're what, like your project?" she demanded.

"They're my friends," he said stubbornly. Didn't Lily understand? Not everything was black and white. Lucius Malfoy might have been a Death Eater, but he was also a good friend. And Severus didn't believe Narcissa had ever so much as lifted a manicured finger to assist the forces of darkness.

"Your friends? Your _evil friends_?" Lily sighed in familiar frustration. How could Sev be doing this to her again? What had happened to his renouncement of all things evil and Voldemort-approved? Was it, 'today the Malfoys, tomorrow the Dark Lord'? Briefly, Lily played with the idea of reforming Voldemort. It would be a challenge…still, one never knew…but no. That was foolishness. The Malfoys might be redeemable—Voldemort, who plotted world domination, who had murdered Alice and Frank and tried to murder Harry, was not.

"They have a son, Harry's age," Sev said softly.

Lily sighed again, this time in capitulation. The elder Malfoys were one thing, but an innocent three-year-old certainly deserved a chance to choose between the Light and the Dark. She finished writing _Malfoys_, but said, "You realize they'll never come. I'm not good enough for them. Mudblood, remember?"

"Don't use that word," Severus said fiercely. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. Your blood is as marvelous as the rest of you. You're the reason I stopped being a Death Eater. You make me believe in a better world—you make me a better man. If anything, you are pure—more than so-called purebloods will ever be. And you deserve better than mindless fear and prejudice."

Lily relaxed, reveling in his words. She had reformed him, and he could see that now. It was such a relief—she hadn't wrecked everything by being too harsh. She'd often worried that she had pushed him into being a Death Eater by not giving him enough of a chance. But now he was good. He had worked so hard to save her and Harry. And now he wanted to save the Malfoys. He was a _hero._

All the anger had disappeared from her voice when she asked, "And you think you can convince the Malfoys to let go of their 'mindless prejudice'?"

Sev looked at her, and the expression in his eyes warmed her from head to toe. "I have an excellent teacher."

Lily smiled back. Then she gasped. "That's right! Teacher! You are one, I mean. That must be fascinating. Except for when they don't understand, and it's incredibly frustrating. I suppose we'll go back to Hogwarts for the spring."

Severus looked worried. "Are you sure you won't mind being back at Hogwarts? There are insolent, indolent, idiotic teenagers everywhere, you know. And staff members rarely get very spacious quarters."

"Well, I'm sure we can have a word with Dumbledore about that," responded Lily. "And honestly, I'll be glad not to have to feel guilty for not doing the housework. Not to mention the fact that all those insolent, indolent, idiotic teenagers might make excellent baby-sitters—well, perhaps not the really idiotic ones. We'll have to pick the very best, but you'll be able to advise me there. And I can help you with your research—you are still submitting to the _Practical Potioneer_? I haven't been able to keep up with advances in the field as much as I'd like."

"Yes, of course. I don't suppose you saw Dagworth-Granger's article on the efficacious properties of hellebore in a standard Hate Potion?"

"No, what were they?" Lily asked, fascinated immediately. "I've been working on a few modifications to Felix Felicis, myself. Did you know that unicorn hair adds a certain serenity which counteracts the aftereffect of dangerous overconfidence?"

"You'll have to show me; feel free to share my lab. The one at Hogwarts is slightly more extensive, but I have the basics here." Severus's dark eyes were alight with the same professional interest Lily felt.

"Let's go down to the lab right now. I only unpacked a few things because I haven't had time—oh! I have to get Harry from preschool!" Lily sprang up and hurriedly pulled on her coat. Her long red hair got trapped in the folds of the coat, but Sev was there at once, carefully disentangling her hair and the zipper (a Muggle invention Lily quite admired).

Sev grabbed his own cloak from a hook on the wall, and ushered Lily out of the house, a protective hand on her back. As they left, he pointed his wand at the door, and the magical locks engaged with a satisfying clicking noise. As they hurried down Spinner's End, neither Lily nor Sev gave a thought to the wedding guest list.

Written in gold ink, it seemed to glow gently:

_Sirius Black (NOT best man this time! Get him to talk to James for me!)_

_Remus Lupin (wedding date NOT on a full moon!)_

_Augusta Longbottom (will she condescend to attend? Heh, heh!)_

_Neville Longbottom, my sweet and adorable godson_

_Petunia Dursley(?) and family(?) Stop putting this off! Family=important, silly girl!_

_James Potter(?) only after rest of invitations sent_

_Albus Dumbledore (surrogate father to Sev, I think)_

_Malfoys (whole family)—redemption possibilities? Research!_


	19. Guest List

**Guest List**

"Why, Padfoot, why?" complained James Potter dramatically, throwing out his arms in a grand gesture. He stood in the living room of his own house, confronting one Sirius Black, lazily sprawling in an armchair, and one Remus Lupin, combing the _Daily Prophet_ for job opportunities.

"What?" sighed Sirius.

"Why is she doing this? Is it to torment me? Oh, if it is to torment me, do you think she might want to get back together?"

"Lily told you, huh?" Sirius asked.

"I mean, I knew she would move on eventually—" James began self-righteously.

"Yeah, right," muttered Sirius _sotto voce_.

"—but this is just an _insult_! She's marrying Severus Snape! _Snape_! Can you believe this?"

"Well, actually—" began Sirius, a little uncomfortably. "I _can_ believe it. But that's no reason to mope! Prongs, mate, you'll find someone better! It'll all be fine!"

"We can boycott the wedding, if you want," offered Remus Lupin, looking up from the newspaper at last. He considered, ruefully, that any scenario in which he did _not _have to buy an expensive wedding gift would be acceptable to_ him_.

"Oh, Moony, what a kind offer!" cried James, still in full dramatic mode. "Your generosity _unmans _me!"

"Uh, well, I can't boycott the wedding," put in Sirius. "I already told Josephine about it, and she wants to go. Says she can't wait to meet Lily."

"The Marauders, Sirius!" expostulated Remus. "All for one and one for all! Except for that unfortunate business with Peter—anyway, you're choosing a _girl_ over a fellow Marauder?"

At the same moment, James complained, "Josephine couldn't meet Lily some other time, say when she's _not_ marrying Snape?"

"I'm afraid not," said Sirius apologetically. "I already told Lily we'd be there. Apparently it's going to be a really small ceremony. They're having it out of the Hog's Head—some kind of special deal with the bartender there; I'm not too clear on the details. You should really go, Prongs—it sounded like a lot of fun."

James, speechless, stared at him.

"But, if you don't want to go, that boycotting option's still open," put in Remus hopefully.

"The love of my life is marrying another man—a man who hates me, a man who _definitely_ was a Death Eater—and you think I should _go_?" demanded James.

"Well, is she?" Sirius asked.

"Is who what?" James looked adorably bewildered.

"Is Lily the love of your life?" Sirius elaborated.

"Of course she—how could you think for a moment that—what do you—so you're saying—I mean, we've always—what?" said James confusedly.

"Maybe you guys weren't meant to be," suggested Sirius casually.

"How dare you! Black, unsay those words!" James's vehemence masked an inward trepidation. Was Lily the love of his life? Well, of course—hadn't he known, the moment he set eyes on her (or more accurately four years later) that she was the perfect woman, the one for him? And now she was marrying good-for-nothing Snape, who was evil. Surely being _evil_ was a little worse for a relationship than an _affair_. Which had meant _nothing_. Lily was just being ridiculous—the same kind of ridiculous as when she insisted on brewing her own potions for fun, or wanted him to watch Harry all day, or refused to cook, or…With an effort, James pushed those thoughts aside.

After all, if Lily wasn't the one for him, he would have to rethink the past nine years of his life—and he wasn't sure he was prepared for that.

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"I just received an interesting invitation," said Albus Dumbledore thoughtfully. Idly, his eyes rested on Fawkes.

"Invitation?" inquired Minerva McGonagall sharply. "What do you mean?"

Smiling over his half-moon spectacles, Albus handed the folded piece of paper to her. Minerva read it, her lips thinning.

"I see," she said at last. Minerva felt conflicted. On the one hand, she resented not having received a similar invitation from Lily Evans (one of her favorite former pupils) and Severus Snape (a colleague). She also felt rather disappointed in Lily for choosing to marry a former Death Eater, but pleased because this would undoubtedly mean Lily would be returning to Hogwarts. Ought they to offer her a teaching position? Most of all, however, she felt pity for James Potter. He had always been one of her favorite students. No matter how many times they landed themselves in deserved detention, Minerva thought, it would be impossible not to have a distinct soft spot for the Marauders—especially James Potter.

"Will you go to the wedding?" Minerva asked eventually.

"Of course," replied Albus. It cost him a pang that his matchmaking skills had failed so spectacularly—James and Lily had seemed so perfect for one another. Both bright, good, brave young people. And now Severus Snape had his heart's desire. That cost Albus a pang, too—of foreboding. When the inevitable occurred and Voldemort returned, Severus would no longer be a good spy, even if he could convince Voldemort not to kill him immediately. His heart would no longer be in it. Albus wondered where he would find Severus's replacement. And, of course, if Lily would be interested in teaching at some point. There was an opening in Defense Against the Dark Arts… "Of course," he said again.

It would be interesting to see if Lily could keep Severus away from the Dark Arts. Albus wondered if happiness, while it reduced Severus's value as a tool in the fight against evil, would increase his value as a teacher. At a guess, he thought Lily would be quite adept at training impressionable young minds. Would they share classes?

"I'll speak to the house-elves," offered Minerva. "Lily will want some more space."

It did not occur to Minerva that the spouses of Hogwarts professors were rarely offered living space in the school itself, and Albus chose not to enlighten her. All in all, considering the events of several years ago, it might be best to have Harry Potter on the premises in any case. It would have been even more preferable if he could have induced Augusta Longbottom to allow him to keep an overt eye on Neville. As it was, he was forced to employ less direct methods.

"Yes," he said to Minerva. "Of course. They will be here for the spring semester, I think."

Minerva nodded. She found she was looking forward to seeing Lily again. And her son—children younger than eleven seldom came her way. "We will all be happy to welcome the Snapes."

"Thank you, Minerva. I'm sure Severus and Lily will appreciate that."

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"Can you _believe_ her?" demanded blonde and buxom Mary McDonald.

"Believe who?" asked her friend, an exotic, slightly anemic-looking blonde. Tall and thin, she fitted gracefully on her stool in the bar. Her skin was a golden coffee color, free of blemishes. Her eyes were large and dark and dreamy (and enhanced with Vixen's Magical Cosmetics). She had prominent cheekbones, an elegant nose, and full lips. Her whole figure was graceful and perfectly proportioned, and her long blonde hair floated down past her shoulders luxuriously. She wore a gauzy robe that clung in all the right places. Her age was difficult to determine—she looked in her early twenties, but in fact she was thirty-one. Her beauty, whatever it owed to Vixen's Magical Cosmetics, or The Hair Spell, or a few highly temperamental and difficult to brew potions she made herself, was undeniable.

"Oh, come on, 'Tari!" pouted her more robust companion. "You know what I'm talking about! Lily! Always Lily! Honestly! It was like this in school, too—perfect Lily, Head Girl, amazing grades, star of the Slug Club, and _all James ever talks about_! It's been what, three or four months? Since—well, _you know_. That night. And she's already marrying again! I always said she had a thing for that creepy stalker of hers. You know he was a Slytherin. Imagine, trading James Potter for that evil, creepy, possessive son of a _witch_!"

"Mary," said 'Tari patiently. "I don't think Lily sees it like that. After all, she probably figures she didn't have Potter to trade. He's so into you. And so what's she supposed to do? Be the dutiful wife at home while her husband spends all his time with someone else?"

"Yeah, but James says—" began Mary uncomfortably.

"Okay, look, Mary, you have got to stop being so sympathetic when he goes on and on and _on_ about his ex-wife. At this rate, you'll never get him to give you a ring."

"It's not that simple, Nefertari," replied Mary, nettled. "Not everything is about marrying really rich men and getting them to leave their entire fortunes to you."

"No…" agreed Nefertari Nejem Broadbent LaRue MacQueen Zabini doubtfully.

"Besides, I couldn't get James to propose even if I wanted to, right now. He's just so hung up on Lily. Honestly, what is wrong with her? Either Snape's her rebound guy, or she really is a heartless bitch! Getting married again so fast—whatever for?"

"Well, maybe she didn't love Potter the way you do," suggested Nefertari. "After all, not all marriages are about deep and undying passionate love, you know." She ran her jeweled necklace provocatively past her teeth. Bone and metal together made a curious clacking noise. With practiced ease, Mary ignored her friend's blatant sexuality. Nefertari had already run through four husbands and was eight years older than Mary, yet still every man present watched her—overtly or covertly, depending upon his character.

"You're just saying that," retorted Mary. "I know how you felt about Thierry Zabini. And little Blaise is already so much like him! You're lucky—you have a son, and more money than even _you_ will ever know what to do with. And what do I have? Nothing, that's what—or worse, a boyfriend who wants to talk about his perfect, amazing, gorgeous ex-wife every time I see him! Honestly, it's surprising he hasn't gotten back together with her—except she's all, oh, too good for him now, even though she's marrying a Death Eater! Don't you think there ought to be laws against this sort of thing?"

"What, love?" asked Nefertari, bored. She ran her fingertips along the counter, then frowned when they encountered a sticky substance. She lifted the particular fingers to her nose, sniffed, and made a disapproving noise deep in her throat. Madam Rosmerta, on the other side of the bar, glared at her.

"Yes—no—I don't know!" complained Mary, irritated that her friend was more interested in mystery substances than her own fascinating conversation. "Fine. You tell me: what is James's problem? Why isn't this working?"

Nefertari looked up from the counter in surprise. "Don't you get it yet?" she asked bitterly. "Men. _Always_. _Leave_."

Mary gave her a pointed look. Nefertari needn't think she, Mary, was so ignorant she hadn't noticed her friend being widowed four times over, to date. All under remarkably questionable circumstances—and it was no use pretending she'd cared much for any of them (with the exception of Thierry Zabini. _He _was killed by Death Eaters. Godric knew why, of course). "Not if you don't let them," Mary said significantly.

Nefertari blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered her poise. "If that's how you feel, marry him." She studied Mary seriously. "And that's my last piece of advice. It's your choice, sweetheart." She rose, unfolding her long, lean body from the stool with practiced grace. Her long hair swung tantalizingly over her gauzy robe. All the men in the bar (and quite a few of the women) watched her leave.

Mary sighed. If that wasn't just typical of Nefertari—leaving on an enigmatic note like that. A wave of jealousy swept over her—women like Nefertari Nejem FirstGuy WealthyBastard YoungFool Zabini and Lily Evans Potter soon-to-be-Snape got their way so effortlessly—men were always attracted, and then it was easy to convince them of anything. James had totally fallen for it, too. He would never even think that Lily might be just as glad about the way things had worked out. Mary considered James. He was a handsome daredevil, of course—always had been. Even the death of that pathetic friend of his, Pettigrew, hadn't quashed his innocent delight in adventure. And he still thought Lily loved him. Really, he was incredibly naïve.


	20. Sistersong

Author's Note: There is a brief Adult Content moment here, so be warned.

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed! I appreciate it--and keep it up! :)

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**Sistersong**

The redhead looked both ways before crossing a busy London street, and made her way carefully to an ancient phone booth. She pulled out some strange looking coins, muttering, "Where are you, Muggle money? Let's see, there's sixpence—a Sickle—no wait—oh, here we go."

She deposited a few coins into the machine and picked up the receiver. "Phones are so outdated," she complained to herself.

"Hello?" asked the woman on the other end of the line irritably.

The redhead took a deep breath, and then spoke before she could lose her nerve. "Hi, Tuney. It's me, Lily."

"Lily?" asked the woman on the other end, Tuney, in shocked accents. "Why are you calling me? I thought you'd forgotten how to use a simple telephone." Tuney thought about hanging up, but it had been too long since she'd heard her little sister's voice.

"Not yet," said redheaded Lily wryly. "Look, I called because I have something important to tell you. I'm getting married."

On the other end of the line, Tuney frowned. This was odd. "What, again? What about Potter?"

"I divorced him."

"Why, what happened?" Tuney's innate curiosity wouldn't allow her to spare her sister's feelings—not that such a thing would ever have occurred to her even when they were growing up.

"He cheated on me." Lily was surprised at how easy it was to say. But already, that night a few months previously seemed a distant, dark memory that had no place in the happiness she reveled in—the life she'd started—or more accurately, resumed, but now it was so much better—with Sev.

"Wow," said Petunia Evans Dursley, thanking God that her husband would never—she couldn't believe—

"Yeah."

"How'd you find out?" asked Petunia, in hushed tones.

"I walked in on them."

"How awful," exclaimed Petunia, and her sympathy wasn't feigned. For once—for once!—she was better than Lily. Lily, everyone's favorite: first in their parents' affections, first to marry—and now, first to divorce. And here she was, marrying again. That part didn't surprise her sister—Lily was the sort of woman who always had a man.

"She was one of my bridesmaids," explained Lily, succumbing to a desire to give her sister all (or at least some of) the sordid details. "We were roommates for seven years." She didn't mention Alice and Marlene—her other roommates for seven years—but she felt their proximity for a moment and closed her eyes against the pain. Loss had been part and parcel of those years fighting Death Eaters, and Lily hated losing.

"And now you're marrying—?" Petunia trailed off suggestively. It was a lot to take in, she thought. Lily—Lily!—and an unfaithful husband. Well, she had never liked James Potter. Too arrogant by half. Just like that wizard friend of his, the one who had made her an improper proposal at the rehearsal dinner. As though she—as though he had thought—just because he was best man and she was the bride's sister—

"Severus," Lily said happily. Though Petunia couldn't see it, she could picture the look of exultation on her sister's face. Secretly, it frightened her.

"_Snape_?" she asked incredulously. Not, of course, she reflected bitterly, that she ought to be surprised. That Snape boy from Spinner's End had hung around her sister from the beginning. She'd always known he was trouble—although her _parents_ had approved of him. Typical, that.

"I know the two of you never got along—" began Lily awkwardly.

"_Why_?" demanded Petunia, still in shock. "Why _him_?"

"Because…" Lily began thoughtfully. "because when I'm with him, it's like coming home. I'm myself with him, more than when I'm alone. We bicker over the tiniest stuff, and it's _fun_! Not like with James. When _we_ argued, it was like we were speaking different languages. But Sev…Sev makes me laugh. When he bleeds, I hurt—I suppose I'm not explaining it well."

"What's to explain?" Petunia asked impatiently. It was obvious to _her_. "You love him. And he's always loved you."

"That's it," Lily sighed in relief. Tuney did understand—who could have predicted it? Secretly, Lily wondered if this was a _real_ first.

"Did you _never_ feel that way with Potter?" Petunia demanded. It seemed incomprehensible—why had Lily married Potter, if she didn't love him?

"Sometimes. Sometimes I thought I did. But honestly, it doesn't compare. And anyway, if he really loved me, he never would have slept with another woman."

"And if you really loved him," Petunia said, her voice unexpectedly gentle, "you would forgive him."

"Would I?" asked judgmental Lily doubtfully.

"Well," said Petunia, uncomfortable with too much insight, "that's how it is in novels."

Lily laughed, and the sound seemed to break constraint. "I love Sev," she said happily.

"I know."

Eager for a sympathetic ear (Lily never tired of talking about herself) she continued, "He says he loved me the first time he saw me."

"I suppose that explains his abominable behavior," replied Petunia wryly.

On her end of the line, Lily grinned wickedly. "I can make him apologize, if you'd like."

Petunia shrugged. "Maybe at the wedding," she said casually.

"You mean you'll come?" Lily shrieked excitedly. "I'm so glad. Sev and I will be _thrilled_."

"Tchah."

"Well," amended Lily. "I will be."

"You really love him, don't you?" said Petunia wonderingly.

"I do." Lily giggled. "Plus, the sex is _great_."

"That, I didn't need to know."

Lily chuckled. Then her eyes clouded. She had no idea how Petunia would take this next piece of information. "Listen, there's another reason I called. Well, it's really the same reason, but I figured, why not bury the wand—er, hatchet?"

There was silence from the other end of the line.

Lily hurried back into speech. "What I mean is, my son and your son are basically the same age and they've never met and who knows—they might be best friends or worst enemies or somewhere in between, but don't you think we should give them a chance to find out which?"

"I suppose…I'll have to talk to Vernon." Petunia felt oddly grateful for the offer, but there was no denying the fact that Vernon would hate it if their Dudley got exposed to any stray bits of M-A-G-I-C that would undoubtedly cling to Lily and her son (not to mention Severus Snape). It was going to be hard enough explaining her sudden reconciliation with her witch of a sister—they never mentioned her at home.

"I understand," said Lily quickly. "And Vernon's totally invited to the wedding, too, by the way. And your son—Dudley, right? Look, Tuney—we were never really friends, I know. But it might be nice to give being sisters another try, don't you think? After all"—with a nervous laugh— "if there's one thing I've learned in the Wizarding world, it's that blood is thicker than—well, most things. I miss you, big sis."

Petunia shifted uncomfortably. This was drifting into territory they hadn't been near since Lily got her Hogwarts letter and Petunia got that 'very kind' note from Professor A. P. W. B. Dumbledore about how magic was something you were either born with, or you weren't. As though that were fair, she thought bitterly. In spite of everything, she was still a little bitter about that. "Maybe," she told Lily. "Maybe."

Lily frowned. 'Maybe'? She was going out of her way here to bring Tuney back into her life—and that last admission had certainly cost her pride something, seeing as how she wasn't the one who'd called her sister a _freak_—and this was all she got? 'Maybe'? Whatever, it's probably just Vernon, she told herself. Why had Petunia married that blind, bigoted, unimaginative businessman anyway?

"I'll let you go," she said aloud, after an awkward pause. "I'm sure you're busy."

"Oh! Yes. Er, bye, Lily."

"Let's say, _au revoir_," suggested Lily, not letting Tuney get out of it that easy.

Petunia bit back an acid retort (really, Lily was just as bossy as ever) and said, "Au revoir, Lily."

"Au revoir, Tuney," said Lily softly, and hung up.

"Well," breathed both sisters simultaneously in very different parts of England, "That wasn't _so_ bad."


	21. Something Blue

**Something Blue**

"She's getting married today—right now, in fact. Morning weddings! No consideration. How can I get _that _drunk before noon? She's marrying Snape. I hate her," complained James Ferdinand Potter, twenty-three, to his chief sympathizer. He held a bottle of firewhiskey in one hand and a battered, feebly stirring old Snitch (for comfort) in the other.

Across from him in his spacious living room sat Mary McDonald, also twenty-three. She had her hands folded in her lap, and her expression was one of waning patience.

"I love her," moaned James. "I hate her. I love her!"

"You're confused," said Mary diplomatically. James stared at her, miserable. "I think we should break up," Mary continued. It cost her a pang, but she looked directly into James's innocent, light brown eyes.

"What?" he asked, his attention caught by something other than Lily for once. "What do you mean, break up? Why?"

"James," Mary said patiently, nerving herself to say it. "You have spent the last eight or nine months—ever since we got together—telling me how wonderful, how perfect, how amazing your wife—your _ex-wife_—is. It's obvious we have no future together."

"But you care about me," he pointed out softly, reaching for a lock of her thick blonde hair. She looked down at her hands. But her Gryffindor courage had stood her in good stead before, despite what _some people_ (like Marlene McKinnon) had insinuated, and she raised her eyes back to his face.

"Yes. I care about you. But you don't care about me. All you care about—all you've _ever_ cared about, even in school—is Lily Evans. Perfect Lily. Well, that's_ your_ problem. Good-bye, James." She got up jerkily (she could never be as graceful as her friend Nefertari, especially under stress) and walked toward the door.

"Wait, Mary, it doesn't have to be this way!" protested James. "I do care about you, it's just—well, we have fun, don't we?"

"I think you're neglecting the past tense, there, _Potter_," snarled Mary. "We're _over_. Get it? You _jerk_." And she hurried out, slamming the door behind her.

"Wait—" James started, then sighed in frustration. He slumped back into his chair, took a swig of firewhiskey, and ruefully addressed the struggling Snitch. "I really, _really_ hate it when women walk out on me."

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_I'm still not sure this was a good idea_, thought Lucius Malfoy irritably, as he, his wife Narcissa, and his son, Draco, entered the main room of the Hog's Head. The tables and stools had been cleared away to make a nice, open space, and there was a small platform in front of the counter. A few chairs were arranged casually facing this, and flowers bloomed everywhere—roses, daisies, peonies, tulips, carnations, chrysanthemums, gardenias—everything, in fact, but lilies. They brought light into the dingy bar; transforming it from a disreputable inn that hadn't been cleaned in years, into somewhere a wedding could easily take place. The effect was startling, if somewhat inexpensively achieved; Lucius was surprised to find that he rather liked it.

They were not the first to arrive, of course: Lucius saw a shabby-looking young man hanging back in the corner, the old bartender, wearing a clean apron for once and standing beside silver-haired Albus Dumbledore, his wife's cousin Sirius Black, on the arm of a very oddly dressed young witch with wide, wondering eyes, tall and pompous Emmanuel Breckenridge, Wizarding minister, and a young family (husband, wife, and small boy) who looked wildly out of place.

_You said, never waste an opportunity_, his wife Narcissa reminded him tartly, clutching Draco's hand. He felt her nervousness in her thoughts. _After all, who can say if this will increase your chances of being named to the Hogwarts Board of Governors? Not to mention the fact that it was Severus who asked, and you have always had difficulty resisting him._

_I'm not the only one_, Lucius thought back at her pointedly. She blushed—not enough for an outsider to notice, but Lucius saw it.

There was no time for more; they greeted their fellow guests with aplomb. "Professor Dumbledore, how lovely to see you again," Narcissa cooed.

_Don't overdo it_, advised Lucius. She made no sign that she had heard. Draco squirmed out of his mother's grip and sidled over to the other three-year-old in the room.

"Who are you?" he asked curiously.

"I'm Dudley." The boy, who was as blonde as Draco but considerably bigger (particularly horizontally), looked petulant. The truth was, he was bored. He'd met his cousin Harry already, about a week earlier (their mothers had taken them to an old playground, where they reminisced while the cousins got acquainted), and wouldn't have minded talking to him again (he wasn't as bad as Dudley's father had prophesied he would be) but he was nowhere in sight, and there didn't seem to be anything to do but smell flowers.

"What's that?" Draco demanded, pointing to the remote-controlled monster truck Dudley clutched in one pudgy hand.

"Duh," said Dudley. "It's a _truck_. You know, you make it go with this thing."

"What's a truck?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"'What's a truck?'" Dudley repeated, shocked. Just who was this kid? "Are you _stupid_?"

"_You're_ an fat, pathetic, overgrown excuse for a Muggle!" began Draco loudly, offended. With the perspicacity of small children, he had known instantly that he possessed something this hulking stranger lacked. Magic left its mark—even if grown-ups couldn't see it.

Before the quarrel could escalate, a distraction occurred in the form of several new arrivals. Augusta Longbottom, tall and regal as ever, swept in, half-carrying her grandson Neville over the threshold. She seemed to breathe fresh air into the room, as though she were bringing the wind in with her.

"Ah, Aberforth, Albus," exclaimed Mrs. Longbottom loudly. Aberforth, owner of the Hog's Head, thought that she was surely the first person _ever _to call his name first—and for once, his brilliant brother was the afterthought. He smiled welcomingly.

"Nev, Nev!" cried a new voice, and Harry Potter ran down the stairs, an errant rose caught on the hem of his robe, its thorns embedded in the fabric.

_The Boy Who Lived! We really are in for it now_, thought Lucius, in a panic. _If He ever finds out about this—_

_He won't. Maybe we should go_… began Narcissa.

_No,_ thought Lucius firmly. _That would make things worse, at this stage. We'll just have to tough it out. He's only three, after all._

_But Draco_—Narcissa thought fearfully.

"Augusta!" welcomed Albus Dumbledore. Mrs. Longbottom gave him a supercilious glare. He sighed inwardly. Still not over the whole Sarah-Louise Perks fiasco. Ah, well—perhaps someday she would regret her selfishness in keeping the Boy Who Lived—and perhaps, then, it would be too late.

"We're just waiting for Lily and Snape now, I think," said Sirius Black jovially. He would have prefixed the names with his customary flair for the dramatic, but Josephine had insisted that polite people didn't call someone a greasy-haired Death Eater bastard at a _wedding_. Besides, Lily had already warned him. And he had already warned Snape that if he hurt Lily, he would live to regret it—Lily didn't have any brothers, so he felt the task fell to him.

Narcissa carefully avoided his eyes. Sirius wondered again just what the Malfoys were doing here. Surely Lily didn't know them—they wouldn't have given her the time of day in the ordinary course of things. It must be Snape. Friends with Lucius Malfoy—it figured.

Remus Lupin was not having a good time. It was impossible to entirely sink into the woodwork, even in a bar as dark as this one normally was. And whoever had heard of getting married in a bar? Trust Lily to carry it through, of course. Already he'd made forced small talk with Lily's awkward sister, who had a very nervous husband and a cocky child in tow. Then Breckenridge had been introduced to him, and Remus hated the calculating once-over the man had given him: shabby cloak, grey hair, grey, shabby wedding gift—he would never live up to the standards of a man like Breckenridge, even if he weren't a werewolf. Typically, James hadn't come—probably off getting drunk somewhere. Honestly, this was a _bar_ and Remus was still stone cold sober. He wished they'd get this show on the road, so he wouldn't have to keep looking at all the happy couples. Snape and Lily, of course—they were upstairs, getting ready, but their happiness seemed to permeate the entire building, via those ridiculous floral arrangements—and Sirius and Josephine, who seemed surprisingly blasé about the whole situation; Lily's sister and her husband, and even the Malfoys. It was just so unfair.

Petunia shifted uncomfortably. She wondered if Lily had known it was going to be this awkward when she'd set this up—if she'd done it on purpose. All these people—magic, all of them, and so snooty, worse than old Mrs. Grapenny at the end of the road—the woman all Petunia's school friends had thought really was a witch. Even the minister had curled his lip and at her and Vernon, as though they were somehow inferior. She'd tried to explain, that day at the playground, just why it was so hard, even visiting Lily's world—always as a guest on sufferance, of course.

Lily had said thoughtfully, "You know, you're right. I hate that I belong to both worlds, but I don't fit in either. They—the purebloods, I mean—well, they're a bit set in their ways—even if they aren't evil. And there's definitely stuff James and Sirius don't get, because they're pureblood. Still, I suppose the converse is also true. I mean, there are things I'll never understand—and I hate cooking with magic. Some things simply shouldn't mix."

"You hate _cooking_," Petunia had pointed out, and the discussion had turned to less serious matters. It had taken a great deal of effort to convince Vernon to come to the wedding. And now, here they were, once again: on the outskirts, waiting for Lily.

The four youngest members of the party eyed one another speculatively. Draco beheld three strangers: the chubby Muggle boy who had already incurred his displeasure, a green-eyed boy who gave him back stare for stare, and a shy, quiet boy with a strange scar on his forehead. Suddenly, inspiration came to Draco Malfoy with blinding rapidity.

"You're the Boy Who Lived, aren't you?" he accused.

The shy boy looked embarrassed, staring down at his feet. It was left to his more confident, green-eyed friend to say cheerfully, "That's right. Nev is famous, you know. Who are you?"

"Draco. Draco Malfoy."

"Harry. Harry Potter."

The two boys studied one another, each wondering if they had just made the acquaintance of a lifelong friend—or enemy.

"If I might ask you all to sit down," said Breckenridge loudly. Relieved, the mismatched guests made their way to their seats. Sirius put his arm round Josephine, and Remus, on his other side, sighed in frustration. The Dursleys hurried to the back, scooping Dudley up on the way. The Malfoys sat primly as far from Augusta Longbottom as they could possibly get. Albus and Aberforth sat next to one another—not an entirely felicitous arrangement, perhaps, but they were grown men and expected to be past that sort of stuff. Harry sat in the front, beside Neville, with whom he compared notes in an urgent whisper.

Breckenridge, standing on the platform, waited in trepidation. He was not entirely comfortable with this ceremony—although he couldn't honestly say he thought the bride and groom unsuited. No, it was their eclectic collection of guests that worried him. Anyone could see that grey-haired bloke hadn't two Galleons to rub together, whereas the Malfoys, straight-backed and proud, made more annually than he himself had ever seen at one time. Not to mention the Muggles in the back.

He forgot his misgivings the next moment, however. The quality of the light changed, becoming more golden; the bride and groom appeared simultaneously from opposite sides of the room. It was lucky, Breckenridge reflected, that the bar had two separate staircases so conveniently placed.

The bride wore gold, and it brought out more golden highlights in her red hair and green eyes. She was a Vision—gauzy material floated around her, and the very simplicity of her ensemble (she wore no jewelry save a small golden locket embossed with the letter 'L', and her long hair flowed down around her shoulders as though gravity were merely in the nature of a guideline) served to enhance her charm. Her shoes were golden sandals reminiscent of a bygone age (they had actually belonged to her grandmother); attached to the inseam of her left sandal, barely visible, was a piece of blue, Muggle notebook paper. On it were the words, doodled by a bored, redheaded ten-year-old girl once upon a time, 'Lily + Sevvie 4-ever!'—Though, naturally, this was unknown to her audience. Her only other ornament was a black rose. She smiled, and the effect was complete.

The groom wore black (it was doubtful, those who knew him reflected wryly, that he ever wore anything else) but his accessories shone polished gold, and the look in his eyes as he gazed at the bride was brighter than any artificial light in the world. His hair was clean (not greasy, for once, thought certain members of the audience) and pulled back severely with a gold ribbon. His robes were elegant, showing off his tall and straight, powerful figure. But his eyes were what anyone would remember—in that moment, the depths they concealed were laid bare. It was a intense, searing look that seemed to go straight through to the heart of things. Several audience members shivered.

Throughout the ceremony, individual fears and petty complaints were forgotten. Severus and Lily swept all before them, and made it look easy.

However, the reception was not so effortlessly harmonious.

"Augusta, we really must talk," began Albus Dumbledore, sweeping his long silver beard out of the way as he bent to consume a tempting sandwich. "Have you tried these? They're delicious—so, about Neville: he seems to be doing very well—"

"He is," said Augusta Longbottom frostily. "And I'll thank you to keep out of his affairs. Neville is my grandson, and nothing you can say will reconcile me to the idea of traveling everywhere with Aurors, or worse, Dementors, as the Ministry seems so determined to foist on me. What could be worse for a growing boy than Dementors, I should like to know?"

"As to that, I am entirely in accord with you," murmured Albus.

"Why did you come?" Sirius asked his cousin Narcissa. Josephine was enjoying a comfortable chat with Lily, while Remus made painstaking conversation with the Dursleys. Lucius had pulled Snape aside for 'congratulations'—evil scheming and recriminations, more like, Sirius thought bitterly. Snape seemed to have gotten over the whole 'Mudblood' thing (and so had Lily) but that Lucius Malfoy was similarly forgetful of what he felt he owed to his pure blood was singularly unlikely.

"What do you mean?" she inquired coldly. She seemed loath to talk to him—which wasn't really a surprise, given that he'd been disowned from the family for being a blood traitor, and all.

"This isn't just a social event for you—what are you and Lucius planning on getting out of it?"

"What gives you this…erroneous impression?" she asked, raising her eyebrows superciliously.

Sirius laughed. "Oh, right, like you really don't mind attending a wedding where pureblood ideals have gone out the window, down the street for two blocks, and into the lake. Haven't heard from Andromeda lately, have you?"

She flinched, as though his words physically hurt her. "That is irrelevant. If you will excuse me—" she left him on the words, pinning an artificial smile to her beautiful lips. Sirius frowned. What was she thinking? If only his Slytherin relatives were a bit more transparent. Were they all accomplished Occlumenses?

Elsewhere, the four three-year-olds sat down at a small table specially set aside for them. Each boy lowered himself into his chair slowly, deliberately—his eyes never wavering from the faces of his companions.

At first, there was silence, as they consumed what was set in front of them with the single-mindedness of those who haven't eaten for several hours and mean to make the most of what they can get.

Gradually, however, the tension level rose. Harry glanced from Draco to Dudley and back, then bent to whisper conspiratorially to Neville. Dudley got up, intent upon quarreling with his cousin then and there; accidentally, his foot jabbed into Draco's, who rose indignantly; Harry got up, too, preparing to defend himself in case Dudley and Draco should decide to form an alliance; Neville, nervous, rose also, and his foot caught on a corner of the tablecloth; Dudley reached greedily for the last cupcake, and Draco's hand shot out, colliding with Dudley's forearm; Dudley howled in pain while Harry, seeing the danger, made a desperate grab for the pumpkin juice; Draco jostled his elbow as he and Neville got into a tussle over the abandoned cupcake, and the entire jug of pumpkin juice flew out of Harry's hand. It shattered upon impact with the table, drenching all four boys in juice and shards of glass.

"Mummy!" wailed Dudley at once.

"Mother!" complained Draco imperiously.

"Mom!" cried Harry, somewhat ruefully surveying the wreckage.

"Gran!" called Neville uncertainly.

As one, Petunia Dursley, Narcissa Malfoy, Lily Snape, and Augusta Longbottom rushed forward. Everyone began talking at once:

"My son, are you all right?"

"Talk to Mummy, Diddykins. Where does it hurt?"

"Harry, sweetheart. Here, everything's fine. Scourgify!"

"Neville, what happened?"

Harry, somewhat bemused by the crash, was still able to give his mother a tolerable account of what had occurred. Neville told his Gran he didn't like Draco or Dudley much, but it wasn't anyone's fault.

Meanwhile, Petunia Dursley and Narcissa Malfoy had listened to tearful, garbled stories of an 'accident' involving the Boy Who Lived and Harry Potter. They were both furious. Nerves already stretched to the breaking point from the strain of attempting to fit in where they didn't belong, they lost control.

"This is all your fault! That bratty son of yours deliberately punched my poor Diddykins!" screamed Petunia, pointing a shaking finger at Narcissa.

"'_Diddykins'_?" Narcissa repeated scathingly. "May I remind you that it was_ your son_ who kicked mine first, thereby causing this entire upset? I have allowed my son to fraternize with _your kind_, much against my better judgment, and this is the result! He could have been seriously injured, thanks to your incompetence! How dare you speak disrespectfully to me? Do you have any idea who I am?"

"No, I don't, and I don't care! 'My kind,' is it? Well, it wasn't my kind who ruined that table! Probably more of your 'special powers,' is that it? Your son cursed Dudley, or the pitcher, getting glass shards everywhere—look, he's hurt! I'll thank you to keep your son away from mine! You freaks are all the same, thinking you can get away with anything just by waving a piece of wood around—you think you're so much better than us—you have no idea how decent people behave!"

Petunia glared at Narcissa. Narcissa's eyes, at the word, 'freak,' had narrowed. Now she drew her wand menacingly. It was at that moment that Lily Sunshine Evans Potter Snape sent her own son hurrying to the other side of the room (out of the line of fire) and threw herself, in fine dramatic style, between her sister and Narcissa.

Petunia fumed, but this momentary distraction was enough to recall Narcissa to her surroundings. Reluctantly, she put her wand away. However, if looks could kill…

Lily swallowed hard, and her eyes found Severus. He was bending over Harry, assuring himself that the boy was unhurt, and Lily had a smile for that; she was so glad Sev had been able to look past Harry's remarkable resemblance to James, and to love him for his own sake. Still, at the moment, she needed more immediate assistance. His eyes met hers in that curious way they always seemed to—it was as though neither could look away from the other too long—and she mouthed, "A little help, here!"

Severus hurried over at once, placing a hand on Narcissa's arm and drawing her a few steps to the side. "Narcissa, I assure you, the accident was minor…" he began soothingly.

Relieved, Lily turned to her sister.

"Did you see what that woman did?" exclaimed Petunia at once, eyes blazing. "First, that brat of hers hurt my son—he has a cut, did you see?—and then she had the nerve to accuse my son of causing the 'accident,' and then she nearly did something to me! I've seen you people, with those sticks, or wands, or whatever—what was she going to do?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," Lily lied, "but I'm sure it wouldn't have been anything too dreadful…and anyway, Tuney, the accident was just that: an accident. A purely non-magical accident. It's fine, really—it's all right, Tuney. Dudley's fine. I can heal his cut right now, if you want—"

"No thanks," interjected Petunia quickly, alarmed.

"Okay, your choice, but I'm telling you, Dudley's fine. And I really appreciate you coming here today, and not being too freaked out about the whole magic thing. Thanks, big sis." Lily leaned over and gave Petunia a quick hug.

Petunia, surprised, returned it after a moment, rather awkwardly. "It's all right, I guess," she conceded. "But I think we'll go now, if you don't mind. This is really hard for Vernon, you know."

"I understand." Lily pulled away, scrutinizing her sister. "It means a lot that you came."

Petunia gave her a little nod. Then she picked Dudley up (quite the feat, although he was only three) and turned to collect Vernon (who stood in one corner trying his best to look like a piece of furniture). Then she turned back for a moment, and said, before she could change her mind, "Stay in touch."

Lily nodded. The Dursleys left as unobtrusively as they could, but nonetheless, several pairs of eyes watched them go: Lily's bright green ones, thoughtfully; Harry's identical green ones, in satisfaction; Draco's hard blue-gray ones, with similar satisfaction; and Albus Dumbledore's electrifying blue ones, also thoughtfully. Albus Dumbledore was wondering if the Dursleys would ever be useful to him and his campaign for truth, justice, and the Wizarding way. After all, they were rather unusual Muggles—knowing about the magical world, yet content to leave it alone as much as possible. And their connection to Miss Evans—Mrs. Potter—Mrs. _Snape_—was undeniably intriguing.

Meanwhile, Severus Snape had been carefully explaining to Narcissa Malfoy just why she should refrain from chasing after Petunia Dursley and hexing her into next week. At first, his efforts met with little success: "That Muggle bitch! Going on and on about my Draco as though it were his fault her brat made such a mess—and the nerve, not giving me the proper respect—honestly, Severus, Lily is one thing (especially now that I've met her properly and since she does seem to be Someone though I'm sure I don't how that makes any sense) but that sister of hers is a _Muggle_! That is expecting too much! I mean, really, were you thinking Lucius and I would come here and suddenly decide to give up everything we've ever been taught or worked for just like that?"

"Well," Severus said lightly, "Not _just like that_…"

Narcissa gave him a direct look. "Do you know, I believe you mean that. Well, be warned: I'm no Lily Evans."

Severus glanced over at Lily as if by reflex, and Narcissa was shocked at how much love she saw in his eyes. Usually, he was a much more accomplished Occlumens than _that._ If the Dark Lord ever saw that look—"All right," she said abruptly. "I won't curse the woman. Make this worth my while, Severus. And remember, you may be Harry Potter's stepfather, but you're still Draco's godfather. Don't abandon us."

He looked back at her, his eyes unreadable again. "I don't mean to."

Later, when the three of them (Lily, Sev, and Harry) were alone, headed for a blissful week or two in the south of France (they were traveling in a flying carriage, which had already lulled Harry to sleep), Severus asked, "Is this what you wanted?"

Lily leaned her head against his shoulder. "Well, it doesn't suck…" she murmured, her breath hot against his cheek.

"I fear it's no bed of roses," pursued Severus wryly. "What happened at the reception…"

"Sure it's a bed of roses. Roses have thorns," Lily said firmly, putting him in his place. "And, anyway," she continued softly, "you're worth it." She kissed him gently on the mouth.

At length, Severus raised his head to look into her bright green eyes. "I love you," he said happily. It occurred to him that happiness had seemed such a rarity in his life—until Lily had come back into it.

Lily gave him a self-satisfied smirk from where she still nestled against his shoulder (like she really belonged there, Severus thought wonderingly). "I know," she said complacently.

And, as it flew over hills and forests and streams, the flying carriage echoed with Professor and Mrs. Snape's joyful laughter.

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And that, said the author, taking a deep breath, was the end of Part 1 of_ Harry Potter and the Evans-Snapes_. The story continues, but with a significant shift to Harry's point of view, in about eight years time…


	22. Platform Nine and ThreeQuarters

**Author's Note**: This is approximately eight years after Something Blue. Text that seems familiar is from Chapter 6 of _Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone_.

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**Platform Nine and Three-Quarters**

On September 1, 1991, King's Cross Station hummed with activity. One guard frowned grumpily at the list of departures: 10:45, 11:20, noon…

"packed with Muggles of course—"

One plump woman's voice rose above the crowd. She was shepherding four redheaded boys, and a redheaded girl, no more than ten, clung to her hand.

Not far from this family of redheads, another woman with long, dark red hair walked briskly toward the divide between platforms nine and ten. She was tall and thin, with bright green eyes and high cheekbones. She was carrying a blonde toddler, and a four-year-old girl with long dark hair clung to her other hand, staring wide-eyed at the station.

A step or two behind her mother and sisters, a redheaded seven-year-old skipped along excitedly beside a dark, intense-looking man who hovered near an eleven-year-old boy protectively. The boy had unruly black hair that stuck up in the back, and his eyes were as green as the red-haired woman's, although they were hidden behind glasses. Alone of the family group, he carried luggage, hauling a huge trunk behind him, upon which was perched a snowy-white owl in a cage.

On the other side of the boy with glasses, walking a little way away and stealing jealous glances at the family, strode a man whose appearance accurately predicted that of the boy with glasses in approximately twenty years. Except for the eyes—this man's were light brown. An incredibly handsome man, who, by contrast, appeared completely at his ease, accompanied him.

"All right, Harry," said the red-haired, slim woman, coming to a stop in front of the barrier between platforms nine and ten, "would you like to go first?"

The green-eyed, bespectacled boy shrugged and strolled toward the barrier, but halted as the man with light brown eyes exclaimed, "Molly! Fancy seeing you here! It's been—what? Ten years? And are these the same kids I used to impress with my Quidditch skills? All grown up now, I see!" He smiled winningly.

Immediately, Molly warmed up to him. "James!" she cried happily. Her redheaded twins rolled their eyes identically, while their brothers and sister shifted uncomfortably. "And Sirius! And Lily, of course!" She leaned in toward redheaded Lily curiously. "Well, dear, and how do you manage to stay so slim?" she asked, her tone deceptively casual.

Lily shrugged. "I keep busy, I guess. I'm the Quidditch assistant coach—maybe that's how."

Molly nodded thoughtfully, then turned back toward James and Sirius, beaming at them. "Naturally I remember you both! And yes, these are my boys—Percy, Fred—"

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," complained the twin at whom she had been pointing. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you_ tell_ I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear. Then _that's_ Fred—"

"Only joking, I am Fred," said the first twin.

"_George,_ and Ron, and this is Ginny," said Molly firmly. "And you must be…" she began, gazing curiously at the dark, intense-looking man.

"Severus Snape," he said laconically.

"Molly, it's been too long—" began the incredibly handsome man. "You simply must meet my wife—"

Lily smiled fondly. She was acquainted with Mrs. Sirius Black. Her seven-year-old daughter yanked on her sleeve, and whispered, "_Mom_, can't you do the grown-up talk _later_? Harry'll miss the train!"

Molly's sons, particularly the eldest, Percy, all looked round apprehensively at this appalling possibility. Percy threaded his way through the crowd and melted into the barrier.

"And who's this little lady?" Molly cooed over the one-year-old in Lily's arms.

"Oh, this is my daughter, Zuriñe Evans-Snape," introduced Lily distractedly. Half her mind was already through the barrier with Harry, who wasn't actually through the barrier but really ought to have been by that point.

"'Lo," said Zuri obligingly.

"And my other daughters, Drusilla"—the wide-eyed four-year-old—"and Fiametta"—the redhead. "And now I'm afraid we'd better go—my son does have a train to catch."

"Of course!" exclaimed Molly, looking round and sending the twins on their way at once.

Harry walked casually to the barrier, dragging his trunk, and passed through, followed in rapid succession by Severus Snape and Fiametta Lily Evans-Snape, Lily Sunshine Evans Potter Snape with Zuriñe Darnell Evans-Snape and Drusilla Eileen Evans-Snape, Ronald Bilius Weasley, James Ferdinand Potter, Molly and Ginny Weasley, and Sirius Black.

Harry James Potter threaded his way through the crowd on platform 9 ¾, trailed by his extended family and those people his parents had seemed to know, whom they'd met in front of the barrier. The youngest son, Ron, appeared around his own age. He wondered whether he might prove a friend, or an enemy. Not that Harry had many enemies, of course (that he knew of).

"Relax, Lily—Harry will be fine," he heard his stepfather tell his mother. Harry slowed to listen.

"I know, I know," said his mother distractedly. "It's just, here we are, going through the formality of bringing him here so he can take a train to where we just were, and Godric knows I don't want to keep him tied to my apron strings! We live at Hogwarts! Maybe we should have sent him to Beauxbatons…"

"Nonsense, that would have been completely impractical," objected Harry's stepfather, Severus Snape. "For one thing, Hogwarts gives Harry an excellent discount, based on my teaching position. We couldn't have afforded Beauxbatons without Potter's help, and I'd prefer not to be too beholden to him—"

"He's Harry's father!" protested Lily. "Still, you have a point: he's very generous, but he never would have let us forget it. And Beauxbatons is so far away, his friends will be at Hogwarts—but you have to admit, it's going to be somewhat awkward for you, teaching him Potions. That's called a conflict of interest, Sev!"

"Dumbledore categorically refused to find another part-time Potions professor," Severus pointed out. "And he said if he _were_ looking for someone else to fill the post _you _would be the natural choice. I don't see any other option, myself. His O.W.L.s will be given by outside examiners, at least."

"Yes, and that's what reconciled me to the situation, as you very well know," began Lily. "And I've made it clear to the girls that they can't expect him to pay attention to them during the week, at least. Still, I don't feel even Hogwarts will be very safe—this is a very unusual year…" A train whistle blew. "Oh, Salazar! We'd better hurry!"

Harry turned to receive farewells and advice from his father and godfather, and simply advice from his mother and stepfather.

"Harry, my boy," said James Potter gruffly, holding out his arms. He enfolded Harry in a bone-crunching hug, "Listen, be good, but not too good, and if you happen to find an old piece of parchment lying around that insults you when you write on it, send me an owl at once, understand? And give Peeves hell from me. And remember, you're coming to me for Christmas. We'll have a great time, right, Prongslet?"

"Right, Dad," answered Harry, smiling. Next, his godfather pulled him into a hug.

"What James said," he muttered. "Merlin, I never thought to see this day. My godson, off to Hogwarts!" Harry refrained from pointing out that he had, in fact, lived in the castle for nine or ten months out of every year since he was three-and-a-half. Logic was not his godfather's strong point. "I'll miss you, Prongslet. Make me proud! Detention in the first week is a sign of strength of character, son. Good luck!"

"Thanks, Sirius."

"Detention in the first week is NOT a sign of strength of character," Lily Snape said firmly. "I have faith in you, Harry. Now go before you miss the train!"

"See you in class. Don't be late!" added Severus.

Harry grinned wryly at him, and waved. His sisters jumped up and down, waving back with reckless abandon. Harry turned, and stepped onto the train that would take him home. But as someone important had once said, the journey was what mattered.

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"Oh," sighed Lily. "I hope he'll be all right!" She watched the scarlet train disappear into the distance. Mrs. Weasley and her daughter Disapparated, and the Evans-Snapes were left confronting Potter and Black amid the rapidly thinning crowd.

"Oh, Lily-Vanilly," said Black, shaking his head. "You'll be there to look after him. I don't know why you're fussing."

"You just wait until it's Jimmy on that train!" retorted Lily. Jimmy was Black's son, the same age as Fia.

"Ooh!" Fia's vivid green eyes brightened. "Exactly four years from now!"

"Or thirty-five thousand and sixty-four hours," added Dru calmly. Severus felt pride in Dru's intelligence race through him She was very precocious.

"Listen," said Potter, pulling Severus to one side of Lily and Black's escalating quarrel. Since they argued almost every time they met, Severus was forced to the conclusion that Lily actually enjoyed fighting with that arrogant idiot.

"Is there a problem?" Severus drawled, looking Potter in the eye and unconsciously registering the other man's concern and affection for Harry.

"You're going to be teaching my son," Potter said. "In eight years, there's never been much I could do about him living with you and being influenced by you, and I've accepted that. I trust Lily to keep an eye on Harry, anyway. But," here he paused, as though for dramatic effect, "she won't be there when you're his Professor. If you use her absence and or your power over your students to give my son a hard time in any way, I will hear about it, and I will come after you."

Severus stared at Potter, insulted. "You think," he whispered venomously, "that I would ever harm Harry? You are a bigger fool than even I gave you credit for, Potter."

"Oh, right," Potter said sarcastically, "like you would never abuse your power as his Professor to, oh I don't know, give him detention, or fail his work, or destroy his confidence. Come on, Snape. He looks just like me—you must hate him!"

"Hate Harry?" Severus whispered. "How dare you insinuate any such thing? That boy—eight years, Potter! I thank Merlin every day that Harry is nothing like you—no matter how much his appearance resembles yours! He may be your son, but I've been as a surrogate father to him ever since you threw away your family as though they meant nothing to you! Hate Harry? I love him."

Potter stared at him for a long moment. "I think I see," he said at last.

Mask back in place, Severus's eyes glittered. "I am relieved."

"I guess you still hate me, though, right?" Potter said with a laugh. He looked rather dazed.

"On the contrary," Severus said calmly. "I've had time to reflect, Potter. Incredible as it seems, you are Harry's father, and he does share some positive traits in common with you. Therefore, I would like to thank you," he paused, watching Potter's incredulous face, "for saving my life."

There was a pause. "You're welcome," Potter said at last, bemused.

"Daddy, Daddy!" shrieked Fia. "Mommy said she doesn't know what Aunt Josephine sees in Uncle Sirius!"

Severus with difficulty refrained from telling his daughter that he hadn't the foggiest idea either, and, taking Fia by the hand, swept back toward his wife. She was glaring at Black. Zuri, no longer in her arms, was hiding behind Dru. Black glowered.

"May I inquire as to the source of the conflict?" Severus asked. Lily flushed, and bit her lip.

Black said loudly, "Just that some of us think Death Eaters and lots of underage children don't mix well!" Severus's eyes narrowed.

"And some of us," retorted Lily, "think certain people don't understand the meaning of the word, 'reformed'!"

Black started to speak, but Severus added icily, "Black, your actions have already resulted in several near-death incidents. I'm sure I don't have to remind you of Godric's Hollow. Now please refrain from further corrupting the minds of my daughters."

"As if I could!" snorted Black. Lily stepped forward menacingly, eyes flashing and fingers curling around her wand. Severus knew that she was thinking this time Black had gone too far. Potter laid a warning hand on Black's arm.

"Sirius," said Potter quietly. "Shut up."

"And what was that, over there?" asked Black. "Did you and Snivellus just have a touching reconciliation scene?" he sneered.

Potter glanced at Severus. "I guess," he said, still sounding surprised.

Black glared at his friend. Severus glared at Black. Lily's spine was stiff with anger. Potter said casually, "Don't mind him, he's just cross today on account of Josephine and Jimmy being out of town. Lily," he nodded to her, clearly preparing to depart.

"Uncle Sirius," said Fia, stepping forward. Her sisters waited, eyes wide, a few steps behind Lily. "I don't know what you said about me and Dru and Zuri, but it sounded bad. Take it back!"

Black looked discomfited. "Er, well…all right, Fia. I take it back. Sorry, Lily!" He avoided Severus's gaze, turned, and Disapparated. Potter followed almost immediately, only staying to give Lily an apologetic look.

"So," Lily asked as she and Severus strolled back toward the barrier. She carried Zuri, and Severus had a firm grip on Dru's hand. Fia skipped ahead of them. The platform was entirely empty now. "You and James had a touching reconciliation?"

Severus shrugged. "I realize now that he probably wasn't trying to kill me that time with the Whomping Willow. And he is Harry's father."

Lily didn't say anything. Severus watched her still, beautiful profile for a moment, confused. Then his thoughts cleared. "Still an idiot, though," he added. "What a fool he was eight years ago! And how grateful I am for his idiocy." His voice was low and intimate, and he watched that gorgeous profile carefully.

Lily turned her face toward him for a moment. "Then I'm glad," she said, beaming.

They walked through the barrier, and out into the parking lot containing Zuri's specially modified flying stroller and three miniaturized broomsticks that would transport them home, to Hogwarts. The year was just starting—who knew what might be in store for their family?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another Note: Lily and Severus have three daughters, Fiametta "Fia" Lily Evans-Snape, born in 1984, Drusilla "Dru" Eileen Evans-Snape, born in 1987, and Zuriñe "Zuri" Darnell Evans-Snape, born in 1990. Sirius and Josephine have one son, James "Jimmy" Joseph Remus Black, born in 1984.


	23. The Journey

**The Journey**

As Harry navigated his way through the crowded train, burdened by his trunk, he saw an excited flurry of people crowding around a boy with a round face, serious expression, and half-obscured lightning scar.

"Nev!" he exclaimed happily. Harry maneuvered his way through the crowd to his friend's side. "Hey, let's grab a compartment."

"Harry, am I glad to see you!" muttered Neville Longbottom, allowing himself to be pulled into an empty compartment.

Before they had finished putting away their luggage, the door slid open. It was the youngest Weasley brother.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked nervously, glancing from Neville to Harry to Neville's scar. "Everyone else is full."

"Sit down," Harry offered, after exchanging a glance with Neville to see if this was okay.

Ron sat next to Harry, stealing curious glances across at Neville. The twins from the platform burst in. "Hey, Ron. Listen, we're going down the middle of the train—Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

Ron looked embarrassed. Unnecessarily so, Harry considered. Siblings, he knew, were not something to be ashamed of. One had only to look at poor Neville—all alone except for his formidable Gran. And some older, irritating relatives. And Harry's own mother, Lily, who was Neville's godmother. Still—siblings were important. Harry didn't know what he would do without his three sisters—rescuing them from trick stairs, unpleasant ghosts, and arrogant bullies formed an indelible part of his days.

"Neville Longbottom, right?" asked the other twin. "Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. And you're…?"

"Harry. Harry Potter."

"Right. See you later, then." The twins left. For a moment, there was silence in the compartment. Ron kept glancing at Neville, and Neville was consequently looking uncomfortable. Harry waited.

Sure enough: "Are you really Neville Longbottom?" Ron blurted out.

Neville nodded.

"Oh—well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes. And have you really got—you know…"

Resignedly, Neville pushed back the few strands of hair his Gran allowed him to drape artistically over the lightning scar.

"So that's where You-Know-Who—"

"Yes," answered Harry, who had heard it all before.

"I don't suppose you remember—" Ron began eagerly.

"No, I don't remember anything," Neville shrugged. "Just some green light, you know. I—OY!" he exclaimed, as his toad, Trevor, leaped out of his grasp.

Harry didn't move. The compartment door was shut, so Trevor couldn't escape. And he certainly didn't want to squish him. Friends don't let friends' toads get squished, even if toads are rather lame pets.

Trevor managed to hop into the corner where none of the three boys could reach him. Ron pulled out his wand, but Neville sighed, "Don't. There's no point. We'll just wait until he's calmed down. It's probably just the train that's messing with his system."

"Right," said Ron, giving Neville a curious look. Neville didn't rise to the bait and spill his life history, however. Harry grinned to himself, proud of his friend. You never knew, after all. Much better to get this Ron Weasley talking.

Harry and Neville knew Ron's entire family history (from the five older brothers to the scruffy pet rat to the obsession with the Chudley Cannons) by the time the smiling lady slid back their door and asked, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

"No, don't—" started Neville, trying to impede Trevor the toad's progress toward the door. The smiling lady pulled out her wand and sent Trevor scurrying back to the safety under the seats.

"Thank you, yes," said Harry, digging coins out of his pocket. He bought some of everything. Neville pulled out money too, but Ron just dug out a dry sandwich.

"You want any of this?" Neville offered.

"Oh—no," said Ron, holding up his sandwich and flushing.

Harry quirked his eyebrows at him. "Suit yourself."

The compartment door slid open again a few minutes later. Neville looked up from his Pumpkin Pasty hurriedly, but wasn't quite fast enough. Trevor the toad made yet another bid for freedom.

"Stop that toad!" Neville cried, getting up and sending crumbs flying everywhere.

The blonde, pale-faced boy in the doorway turned in surprise. _What__ now__?_ he mouthed at Harry. The two thickset boys on either side of him simply looked bewildered.

"Draco, close the door!" demanded Neville, exasperated.

"Who are _you_?" asked Ron aggressively.

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," answered the blonde boy carelessly. He was trying to close the door, but for some reason it seemed to be stuck. "And this is Crabbe and that's Goyle."

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been a snigger. Draco abandoned the door in favor of glaring at him. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

"Oh, and your father's a_ keen_ judge of character, eh, Draco?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"You think you can get away with that, _Potter_—what about your parents? Not going to say my father has bad taste in people when he's introducing Professor Snape to all those—"

"Death Eaters?" queried Harry innocently.

"Very funny, Harry. Well-known and respected Potions geniuses."

"Shut the door!" growled Neville in frustration. Goyle finally got the door unstuck, but it was too late; Trevor had escaped. Neville wrenched open the door again, only stopping to mutter a hurried, "Hey, Draco, good to see you," before dashing down the corridor.

Draco Malfoy sat down next to Harry, shaking his head. "Salazar. Never get between the Boy Who Lived and his toad."

Harry rolled his eyes. "We missed you, too," he said pointedly.

"Wait—you two know each other?" demanded Ron Weasley incredulously.

"Of course," both boys said haughtily.

Before an astonished Ron could utter another word, the compartment door opened again. A girl with bushy brown hair and large front teeth edged her way in past Crabbe and Goyle, who still stood awkwardly as near to Draco as they could get.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said bossily.

"We know, we _know_," sighed Draco long-sufferingly.

"Nev's toad is _definitely _not in here," Harry told the girl firmly.

"Oh, well, all right then, just thought I'd ask. I was ever so surprised when I found out _he_ was here, though of course it makes perfect sense, since he's the right age and all—do you know, I read all about him—I got a few extra books for background reading, since nobody in my family's magic at all—"

Draco, who had been studying the girl with some attention, winced.

"—I was ever so surprised when I got my letter—I've learnt all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough—anyway, Neville's in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._"

"Really?" asked Ron, somewhat confused by all this eloquence. His stunned face represented how Harry felt; his parents (even his mother, who thought school was fascinating, and his stepfather, who was an actual_ teacher_) had never mentioned learning all their course books by heart.

"I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?" asked the girl, so fast it was unclear whether she ever had time to draw breath.

"Ron Weasley," Ron mumbled.

"Harry Potter," said Harry. He nudged Draco.

"Draco Malfoy," Draco muttered, wincing again. Harry knew he was not happy to be dragged into yet another acquaintanceship with a Muggle-born. It had taken Harry years (or at least months) to break him of the habit of saying 'Mudblood' without even thinking. Now, Harry was aware, he said it after weighing thoroughly the advantages and disadvantages of so doing—which was all anyone could expect.

Crabbe and Goyle just stared at Hermione menacingly. Draco took the hint, and leapt up. "Right, well, we'd better go," he said. "It's been fun—say hey to Neville for me, Harry. And you two—C'mon." He led Crabbe and Goyle out.

Just then, Neville came back in, disconsolate—"I can't find Trevor anywhere!" he moaned in frustration. Hermione sprang up from where she had perched daintily on the seat by the door.

"I'll help you, Neville!" she offered at once. "And you two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be arriving soon." Harry glanced at Ron, wondering which way he'd jump.

"You're friends with Malfoy?" Ron demanded as the door closed behind Neville and Hermione. "I've heard of his family. They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side."

"Well," Harry said, shrugging. "Don't believe everything you hear."

Ron glared at him.

"Hey," said Neville, opening the compartment door and slumping back into his seat. "Still no Trevor. Honestly, what am I supposed to do? I know he's not much, but Gran wouldn't let me get an owl. You're so lucky, Harry," he sighed enviously, his gaze lingering on the snowy white owl in her cage.

"I know," said Harry happily, glancing over too. "Hedwig was my birthday present from Hagrid. She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Ron glanced over, flushed with jealousy, and looked around for another conversational topic. "So Neville, did you know Harry here is friends with Malfoy?" he asked, with the air of one delivering unpleasant but necessary tidings.

Neville looked surprised. "Of course."

Ron gazed at him fearfully. "You aren't—I mean, you don't—he's evil, it's just fact—you know what I—are you—do you?"

Harry laughed. Ron's confusion was palpable.

"If you mean, am I friends with Draco," Neville began. He glanced at Harry. "Let's just say I've known him since we were three and Harry's broken him of his distressing habit of making fun of me, so I suppose so, yes."

Ron goggled. "But—You-Know-Who—"

"Voldemort?" asked Neville innocently.

Harry laughed aloud at the expression on Ron's face.

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" exclaimed Ron. "I'd've thought you, of all people—"

Neville shrugged. "My Gran says fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself."

Harry's eyes met Neville's. Harry knew he should feel guilty for the way they were shocking Ron, but he couldn't bring himself to be sorry. Draco was his friend (even if he was a bit of a spoiled, arrogant git) and no one messed with his friends. Besides, as his mother would say, perhaps Ron might learn something.

The train slowed, and all three boys pulled their robes on over their jeans. Hagrid welcomed them, with a special word for Harry and Neville, and they clambered into a boat, prepared to glide across the black lake, followed at the last minute by Draco and Hermione. Ron Weasley, still sulking over the Malfoy question, joined a pompous-looking boy, a blonde girl, and a giggly, nervous-looking girl in another boat.

Hagrid checked the boats as everyone scrambled out onto a rocky beach under the castle, asked, "Oy, Neville! Is this your toad?"

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Harry sighed in relief.

Hagrid led them into the castle, and Harry breathed deeply, reveling in the feeling of security and rightness that assailed him even in that dark passageway. What did Ron Weasley's sulks or Hermione Granger's bossiness matter now? He could take whatever fate threw at him. He was _home._

Hagrid raised an enormous fist, and knocked thrice on the heavy door at the end of the passageway.


	24. The Color Green

**The Color Green**

"I'll take them from here, Hagrid," said the severe-looking woman who had opened the door. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her lips were a thin line. As she led the first-years through the enormous Entrance Hall to a small antechamber, however, Harry Potter couldn't suppress a fond smile. Professor McGonagall might be strict, but she always had a biscuit just for him, and her expression would soften slightly when she saw him. Harry liked most of the Hogwarts professors (with the possible exception of creepy Professor Trelawney) but he definitely had a soft spot for Professor McGonagall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she addressed the assembled first-years. She went on to explain about how important your House was, but Harry didn't pay too much attention. He already knew a lot about the four Hogwarts Houses, "called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin." Her lips seemed to get even thinner as she spoke the last word, and Harry frowned. Contrary to popular opinion, he knew there was nothing wrong with Slytherin. Being ambitious and cunning wasn't evil—in fact, it came in handy a lot of the time. And as for the rather large percentage of Slytherin Death Eaters, it would naturally be harder to resist the rhetoric and propaganda of a powerful wizard from one's own House. Housemates shared a bond—one that was at least slightly magical in nature. Not that it was impossible to resist, of course—one had only to look at Harry's stepfather.

Professor McGonagall left, and immediately Hermione Granger started whispering, top-speed, about all the spells she knew and which of them she might need. Harry, alone of the first-years, remained relaxed at the prospect before them. It was true that he didn't know exactly what the ceremony would entail, but he had seen many years of new students survive it each September, and knew his mother would never allow a test she deemed unfair to continue. Still, he was slightly nervous—there were people he knew, mostly older, prefect-types, who had baby-sat for him and his sisters, in that audience. Not to mention all the people he _didn't_ know.

His nerves were nothing to Neville's; Harry's friend was actually shaking slightly. "How exactly do they Sort us into Houses?" he asked Harry.

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "Fia and Dru and I never actually managed to sneak in at the opportune moment. But I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

Almost before he finished speaking, several translucent figures streamed in through the wall. Harry groaned, and tried to remain inconspicuous while the ghosts teased the first-years. He'd had a bit of a run-in with more than one of them in the past.

Professor McGonagall came back, and led them into the Great Hall, a cavernous room with a ceiling that glittered with stars. Hermione whispered, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

Professor McGonagall set a frayed and shabby wizard's hat upon a convenient stool, and waited expectantly. Everyone else waited as well, Harry a little skeptically. Of all things, why a hat?

When the hat began to sing, Harry reluctantly revised this opinion. It seemed all you had to do was try on the hat. Better than he had expected. He looked up at the staff table, grinning when he saw his stepfather, taciturn as ever. His mother sat nearby, her impatience plain. Harry still didn't know how she'd managed to get a seat at the staff table, since she technically didn't teach any classes, but it was both comforting and nerve-racking to see her there. What if he disappointed her? What if this Hat decided he didn't belong in any of the four Houses? He felt neither brave, loyal, intelligent, nor ambitious at that moment. Moreover, he didn't really understand how any one of these traits was expected to define his entire personality for the next seven years—if not his whole life.

"Abbott, Hannah!" said Professor McGonagall loudly, and the Sorting began.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat. And so it went. Hermione Granger was Sorted into Gryffindor. At last, Neville's name was called. Harry gave him a reassuring look, as the volume in the hall seemed to drastically increase.

"_Longbottom_, did she say?"

"_The_ Neville Longbottom?"

The hat seemed to take a long time, but at length it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

After that, Draco's turn came quickly. The Hat considered him briefly, before it yelled, "SLYTHERIN!"

Harry frowned in frustration. This was almost inevitable, he supposed. Forced to choose between his two closest friends, between his father and his stepfather, between Gryffindor and Slytherin…this was just typical.

Professor McGonagall called, "Potter, Harry!" before he was ready. He rolled his eyes, and caught his mother's reassuring look and thumbs up. 'I love you,' she mouthed. He smiled in spite of himself.

"Hmm," said a voice in his head as the hat fell over his ears, plunging him into darkness. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting…So where shall I put you?"

Harry gave a mental shrug. 'Doesn't matter,' he thought. 'Someone will be disappointed no matter what. Put me where I can do the most good.'

"Well, isn't that ambitious…brave, too…Still, I know where to put you—and it'll help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that…better be SLYTHERIN!"

The hat shouted the final word to the whole hall. Harry got up, took off the hat, and headed wearily toward the table laden in green. He glanced toward Neville apologetically, then back toward the staff table. Severus raised one eyebrow at him, and he smirked back, glad of the support. His mother looked like her feelings were mixed, but she gave Harry another thumbs up anyway.

"Hey, Potter, good show," said Draco, making room for him on the bench. "So, this is Flint and that's Warrington—they're on the Quidditch team."

Harry inclined his head at two older boys who gave him curious looks. He knew they were wondering about his friendship with Draco, and they wouldn't be Slytherins, he supposed, if they weren't considering how best to use his relationship to the Potions Master to their advantage. These particular boys had never babysat for him and his sisters—indeed, it was the rare Slytherin (and the rarer Gryffindor) who passed both his mother and his stepfather's inspection.

Ron Weasley was Sorted into Gryffindor (no surprises there) and Blaise Zabini joined them at the Slytherin table. The Headmaster then proceeded to utterly confuse the student body by saying, "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" causing Harry to wonder if there was some meaning and connection behind the words, or whether Dumbledore was simply intent upon maximum chaos, and then the food appeared. Harry had eaten in the Great Hall before, but found there was quite a difference in doing so surrounded by tall, older Slytherins—not to mention the Bloody Baron, who flitted in and settled translucently on Draco's other side. Harry saw his friend cast a longing glance at Crabbe and Goyle a few seats away, but he was at a loss to understand how Draco expected their muscles to protect him from a ghost.

Harry glanced over at the Gryffindor table, and saw Neville, cornered between Ron Weasley and his twin brothers, look up at the staff table and wince as though suddenly in pain. He followed his friend's line of sight to catch the end of a brief conversation between his stepfather and the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor (Harry had lived at Hogwarts for almost seven and a half years now, and there always seemed to be a new one). That was odd, of course, but the really strange thing didn't happen until Professor Dumbledore got up to speak again.

"…And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry and Draco exchanged startled looks. "Is the third-floor corridor usually out of bounds?" Draco asked delicately.

Harry shook his head mutely. What could this possibly mean? It couldn't have anything to do with his mother's concern over this year being "unusual," could it? Harry determined to uncover the mystery—even if he had to exert the utmost patience in order to do so.

After singing the school song (a ridiculous and abysmal effort at quality music, in Harry's humble opinion) the students were dismissed to their dormitories.

Harry and Draco followed the Slytherin prefects, Timothy Bole and Suzanne Carey, to the dungeons. Harry, who had spent a great deal of time down here with his mother and stepfather, amusing himself and occasionally his sisters while they worked, felt more and more at home.

The prefects stopped in front of an apparently blank patch of wall, and Suzanne Carey said clearly, "lumina puto;" the invisible door swung open, and the first-years followed Suzanne, a studious-looking brunette, and Timothy, a heavyset boy with surprisingly wide eyes, inside.

"Everyone, get in a line and write your full name under the portrait of Salazar Slytherin," drawled Timothy.

"Why?" Harry asked. Draco and the other new Slytherins stared at him, marveling at his daring.

"What?" Timothy said blankly. Suzanne kicked him in the shin. "Oh, right," said Timothy. "First-years should be seen and not heard. But what it's about: basically it's a magical contract that you keep your quarrels in the family, so to speak. Got a problem? Talk to our Head of House, Professor Snape. Slytherins look out for other Slytherins, got that?"

"Magical contract?" Harry whispered to Draco. His friend shrugged. Sighing, Harry signed his full name, Harry James Potter, right below Draco Caerwyn Malfoy, hoping this wouldn't come back and be a problem for him later.

"Girls on the left, boys on the right," said Suzanne, bored, once everyone had signed. Harry and Draco found their dormitory easily.

"So?" Draco asked. "What do you think of Slytherin?" He sounded almost nervous, and Harry realized with a start that Draco was asking for more than his opinion of the furniture design.

"Seems fine," he said casually. "You know how I love the color green."

Draco gave him a relieved smile. "'Cause for a second there I thought you were wishing to be a lion with Neville. Oh, weird mental picture there! Neville's hardly the roaring sort."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, well, this isn't going to change anything. I mean, you and I and Nev will still be friends, so don't think you can get away with snide comments like that."

"You think that was snide?" demanded Draco. "You just wait, Potter, I'll show you snide…"

Harry grinned, looking forward to a little verbal sparring. The other first-year Slytherin boys entered then, however. It would have to wait until the following day. "Goodnight, Malfoy."

"Goodnight, Potter," came the grudging response. Harry swept his curtains shut, ready for some quality dreamless sleep. It had been a long day.

Over the next few weeks, Harry came to appreciate his prior experience of the castle. Ron Weasley was late to their first Potions lesson, earning a sharp rebuke from Severus. Quirrell's lessons seemed to have little resemblance to all Harry's mother and stepfather had taught him over the years, and told him of the war. Usually it was only snippets, of course, but Harry always made sure to pass it along to Neville—he really didn't get enough stories about his parents from his grandmother. And they were seeing much less of each other, now that they were in different Houses. Even worse, Nev had managed to get himself hurt in their very first official flying lesson. Harry and Draco had used the teacher-free opportunity to indulge in a little friendly sparring, with the result that Quidditch captain Terence Higgs, a seventh year Seeker, was vainly petitioning Dumbledore for a special dispensation concerning the no-first-year-Qudditch-players rule. Harry found Transfiguration difficult, and History of Magic woefully somnolent. Worst of all, his mother absolutely refused to help him with his homework, so that he was forced to consider the formation of a proper study group—maybe get a few Ravenclaws involved, meet somewhere other than the crowded library…Draco resisted taking part in this plan, despite his own vow to beat the Mudblood Granger (his words, not Harry's) in as many subjects as possible. Harry's sisters roamed the castle at all hours, and twice Harry had been forced to act quickly to prevent Fia from leading Dru and Zuri down the supposedly locked third-floor corridor. And on a more personal note, Harry had heard absolutely nothing from his father ever since he'd been Sorted into Slytherin. He found this silence more than slightly alarming.

On the domestic front, Harry absolutely hated sharing a dormitory with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. They were both so colossally stupid that it simply had to be an act, part of some complex, truly Slytherin power play. Although this prospect worried Harry, what downright terrified him was the possibility that it _wasn't_ an act. If Crabbe and Goyle really were _that dumb_…then Harry couldn't see how there could be hope for Slytherin House…or the Wizarding World.

His other new dormmates, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, didn't bother him nearly as much. Blaise was haughty and selfish, but an expert at Astronomy, which boded well. Theodore was quiet—too quiet. Harry knew Nott was working out schemes of some sort—that much intense meditation could mean only one thing, in a Slytherin. As for Draco—they'd been friends for seven years, but they had never before shared living space, and Draco was definitely a bathroom hog.

September seemed to fly by. Harry had never been so busy in his life. The years he'd spent at the castle without homework seemed a distant memory. One day in a particularly difficult week, he was walking out of the Great Hall after lunch when—

"Harry! Harry!" a small girl with vibrant, riotous red curls called across the crowded Entrance Hall.

He turned exasperatedly, and waited while Fia caught up. Draco and Neville paused for a moment, then independently decided to give Harry and his sister some privacy, and continued toward the dungeons.

"Fia, Mom told you not to talk to me during the week!" exclaimed Harry, pulling his seven-year-old half-sister into a convenient closet off the Hall. "And, I'm going to be late! What do you want?"

"Harry, I had to tell you—the third-floor corridor—inside there's a giant, three-headed dog standing on a trap-door!" exclaimed Fia Evans-Snape rapturously, her green eyes wide.

"You went into the third-floor corridor?" asked Harry, horrified. "Fia, that's really dangerous! You could have been killed!"

"We had to see what—" began Fia defensively.

"We? You took Dru and Zuri? Fia, you have to learn to be more responsible! Whatever that dog's guarding, it's clearly none of your business!"

"I thought you should know," said Fia, nose in the air. "But if you're going to be a jerk about it—"

"I understand, Fia, really," Harry said distractedly. "How can one not explore? But not all rules are made to be broken. Promise you won't go there again."

Fia looked mutinous.

"Promise!" Harry demanded, using his best I-Am-The-Oldest-Sibling tone.

Fia glared, but submitted. "Okay, okay. We already saw it, anyway."

"Good. Did you tell Mom and Sev about this?"

"Not yet," sighed Fia. "They'll only scold, just like you. Now that you're a first-year, you act just like them—never letting me have any fun. Mom'll be all, it's dangerous, and Dad'll just give me a Look…do I have to tell them?" she whined. Harry gave her a stern look. "Fine," she grumbled. "I wonder if they know what that dog's guarding? It looked like one of Hagrid's pets, you know. Well, off I go, to meet my terrible fate," she finished melodramatically.

"That's what you say now," Harry said, grinning at her. "Just wait until Sev's allowed to give you detention."

Fia stuck her tongue out at him, and left. Harry was thoughtful on his way to Potions. So the forbidden corridor concealed a huge, three-headed dog…guarding something. Guarding what? He resolved to ask Draco and Nev for suggestions as soon as possible.

"Must be something dangerous," was Neville's first contribution to the ensuing discussion.

"Or really valuable," suggested Draco, an avaricious light gleaming in his eyes for a moment.

"Probably both," sighed Harry. "But what? It's not like it makes sense to hide something like that in a _school._ Even if it weren't for my sisters, someone would be bound to sneak in there and see it."

"And get eaten by the three-headed dog," added Neville.

"You know," said Draco thoughtfully. "Do either of you get the _Daily Prophet_? Of course you don't, you're both completely world-news-illiterate. Well, there was an article a bit ago…hang on…" He rummaged through his trunk, throwing several crumpled newspapers out of the way. "Here! Read that!"

They did. Apparently, there had been an attempted robbery at Gringotts on July 31—Harry's eleventh birthday. The thief was unsuccessful, because "the vault in question had been emptied earlier that same day…"

"By whom?" asked Neville, voicing all their thoughts.

"Maybe that's what the dog is guarding!" Harry suggested. It was rather a leap, but then again, coincidences were rare in the Wizarding world. He grinned at Nev and Draco, pleased with their deductive reasoning. Now all he needed was someone who could explain his complex homework, someone capable, someone brilliant…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"This is so worrying," complained Lily Sunshine Evans Potter Snape, tapping an open letter against her palm irritably. "I mean, sure, James has a grudge against Slytherins, but Harry's still his son—this doesn't change anything. Honestly, sometimes I wonder what I ever saw in that man…"

"So do I," said her husband, Severus Snape, drily.

Lily whacked the parchment against his arm playfully. "On Harry's and my behalf, hey! Anyway, don't you think he's carrying it a little far? Sirius says he won't even mention Harry. That can't be good. What if he's horrible to him at Christmas?"

"Then Harry'll owl us and we'll go get him," Severus answered promptly. "Maybe we should get him a two-way mirror, just in case…you never know when he might need a secure method of contacting us…"

Lily gave him a serious look. "You mean because of what's in the third-floor corridor?"

Severus sighed. "He will undoubtedly investigate it; the girls already have, after all."

"What were they thinking?" demanded Lily, distracted by her daughters' folly. "Or were they even thinking at all? I suppose we indulge them too much; Fia needs constant watching…"

"She's more competent than most seven-year-olds," argued Severus. "And at least she had the sense to run away when she saw Fluffy. I know sixth and seventh years who would have stood there like complete dunderheads. And the girls won't go back there again."

"But someone will…" Lily mused, gazing into the distance, and thinking about the attempted theft of a certain priceless artifact. "Someone will."

Severus raised his eyebrows, but refrained from comment.


	25. Home for the Holidays

**Home for the Holidays**

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," Ron Weasley said savagely to Seamus Finnigan as they pushed their way through the crowded Charms corridor. Harry Potter, hurrying to meet Gryffindor Neville Longbottom for their next class, perked up his ears automatically. "She's a nightmare, honestly."

Harry didn't hear Finnigan's reply, but he did see Hermione Granger brush past them, tears streaming down her face. Harry glanced back at Ron Weasley, and reached the obvious conclusion. Annoyed, he pulled Neville out of the crowd with a little more force than necessary.

"What?" Nev asked as Harry pulled him along.

"What just happened with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger?" Harry demanded. Draco would've asked why a blood traitor and a Mudblood—Gryffindors, too—mattered to him (but he would have asked it _sotto voce_). Nev simply answered the question.

"Flitwick paired them up for the new 'making-things-fly' spell."

"Wingardium Leviosa? And what, Granger showed him up?"

"I'm sure he could've done it," said Neville uncomfortably. "You know, given a couple more tries."

"Right," Harry agreed in disgust. Honestly, Ron Weasley's ego seemed to need even more support than Draco's. In his position, Harry would have wanted Granger as an ally. Her skill with the spell was hardly an isolated occurrence. In fact, Harry mused, perhaps Granger _would_ make a useful ally…

Harry, Neville and Draco overheard one of the Gryffindor girls, Something Patil, telling her friend that Granger was crying in the girl's bathroom on their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween Feast.

"Crying?" scoffed Draco. "Over that idiot Weasley?"

"He is a bit of a prat," agreed Neville. "The way he won't talk to Harry just because he's a Slytherin. He practically worships me, because I'm the 'Boy-Who-Lived,' or whatever. The twins are all right, though."

At that moment, they entered the Hall and gazed joyously around at the Halloween decorations. The trio separated, Neville heading for the Gryffindor table and Harry and Draco seating themselves at the Slytherin one. The feast appeared, and they were just helping themselves to food when Professor Quirrell ran into the Hall, turban askew and eyes wide and frightened, exclaiming about a troll in the dungeons. Harry and Draco exchanged one startled glance; then Quirrell fainted and Dumbledore restored order, sending everyone back to their dormitories to finish the feast.

"This can't be good," commented Draco apprehensively as he and Harry followed Timothy Bole and Suzanne Carey toward the Slytherin dormitories. "We're going to the dungeons. _The troll_ is in the dungeons."

"Right," Harry answered distractedly. His mother and stepfather would be going to face the troll. They were both quite accomplished magically, of course…he found himself wondering where exactly his sisters were at the moment—most likely the kitchens, getting their Halloween feast—the house-elves wouldn't let them come to any harm…probably the safest place in the castle, the kitchens…Thinking about his sisters reminded him of another potential damsel in distress.

"Granger," he said suddenly. Draco stared at him. "She doesn't know about the troll," Harry elaborated.

Draco raised his eyebrows, as if to say, 'So?'

Harry rolled his eyes, annoyed at having to explain. "_So_, we should warn her. She's smart, it might get her on our side, and it'll annoy the hell out of Weasley."

"You've convinced me," said Draco promptly, and they snuck back toward the girls' bathroom. They saw Sev on the way, heading in the opposite direction of the dungeons. Harry immediately suspected him of going to check on the three-headed dog, which, he'd found out, Hagrid had christened Fluffy, while everyone else was busy. There was definitely some mystery there.

They smelled the troll before they saw it; Harry hoped the teachers weren't far behind. It was grotesque. It lumbered along through a convenient door, while Harry and Draco watched, horrified.

"What now?" Draco whispered. "If my father knew trolls were allowed in here…"

"They're not strictly _allowed,"_ Harry started, but was cut off by a shrill scream. He hurried forward, Draco following reluctantly. The troll had blundered into the girls' bathroom!

"Okay," said Harry, thinking fast, "we'll go in there, grab Granger, and get out. Ready?"

Draco gave him a Look. "Fine, fine…" he sighed long-sufferingly. "If you get us killed, I'm telling my father!"

They crept inside. The troll was advancing on a terrified Hermione Granger, cowering against the opposite wall. The troll bashed the sinks with its club, seemingly just for fun, and Granger whimpered.

Harry and Draco reached her, and began yanking on her arms in order to get her to move. "Come on, Granger!" whispered Draco in frustration. "Freak out later, escape now!"

But Granger seemed too terrified to move. In desperation, Harry darted to one side, and shouted, "Oy, peabrain!" at the troll in order to distract it. Draco started whispering furiously in Granger's ear. The troll lumbered toward Harry, and whatever Draco had been saying seemed to work, because Granger went red, glared at him, and raised her wand.

"Win-wing-gar-di-i-um Levi-leviosa!" she said, her voice and her wand shaking. The troll's club rose slightly, then fell on its foot with a resounding crash!

Harry thought he saw the floorboards crack, but wasted no time in idle speculation. He raced around the troll as it roared in pain, and grabbed Granger's arm, pulling her toward the door as fast as he could. Draco, on her other side, needed no encouragement.

At last, they were out of the girls' bathroom! Harry darted forward once more, slammed the door, and turned the key in the lock.

"Well, at least that's over," Draco began shakily. There was an ominous sound from behind the locked door. The troll was using its club to attempt to batter it down!

"It'll hold," said Granger, in a small, terrified voice. "It'll hold."

As the door began to show signs of breaking from the strain, the three eleven-year-olds raised their wands, fear apparent in each face. Harry braced himself, mentally reviewing every spell he'd ever learned—

"Harry!" called a welcome voice. "Where's the troll?" Harry's mother asked, getting right to business as she came up to them.

Granger gestured mutely; Albus Dumbledore said mildly, "I apprehend the troll is behind that door, Lily. Oblige me by opening it."

"Bad idea," muttered Draco, and even Harry had his doubts.

"Must you do everything the brute force way?" complained Sev, arriving upon the scene, with a dire frown. Harry raised his eyebrows expectantly. Would an explanation be forthcoming?

Lily was already opening the door. What followed was hardly the epic battle of Harry's imagination. Dumbledore pointed his wand at the troll, said a few words, then stood back while the troll collapsed with a resounding boom that shook the castle. Lily went into the girls' bathroom to reattach the sinks and see about the hole in the floor, and Dumbledore, now supported both by Severus and by Professor McGonagall, turned to the three first-years. Professor Quirrell hovered in the background, shaking.

"What were you thinking, three first-years taking on a mountain troll?" demanded Professor MacGonagall.

"They succeeded in trapping it," Severus pointed out sourly. Harry wondered at the source of his bad mood…perhaps Fluffy had proved difficult to handle?

"What were you thinking, allowing a troll to get in?" countered Draco, still shaken. "My father—"

"It's not their fault," said Granger bravely, cutting Draco off. "It's mine. I w-went looking for the troll, I thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I've read all about them. If Harry and Draco hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. They didn't have time to come fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Harry and Draco quickly put on their most innocent, heroic expressions. Inwardly, Harry's mind was racing…Hermione Granger, lie to a teacher? It was unprecedented. And quite possibly profoundly excellent. After all, she _was _smarter than most Ravenclaws…

Professor MacGonagall took several points from Hermione, but awarded some to Draco and Harry for their fearless rescue. She didn't look too happy about giving Slytherin more House points. Severus gave the three of them a curious look, before going to help Harry's mother with the floor repair. Dumbledore told them, eyes twinkling, to hurry back to their dormitories, before he too departed, and they were momentarily alone.

They looked at one another; then they all said, "thanks," and headed off to their respective dormitories. Even Draco refrained from making a snide comment about Granger's parentage. On the whole, Harry thought, Halloween had been a success.

"He was _what_?" Neville asked again, the next day. Hermione Granger had joined their councils, and she looked interested in the mystery of the third-floor corridor—although she maintained that no teacher would attempt to steal something Dumbledore wanted kept safe.

"Going to check on Fluffy," Harry repeated, exasperated. "And apparently he was injured, too, you should've seen—"

"But that means he must be trying to steal whatever's there!" argued Neville.

"Not Professor Snape," Draco stated positively. "He's thick-as-thieves with Dumbledore, everyone knows _that_. He's probably in on whatever Dumbledore reckons is going on. My father says he's much too tolerant of Mudbloods, anyway—"

"That better be a direct quote, Malfoy," Harry growled. "Not," he continued thoughtfully, "that it makes it much better to think it's your father insulting my mother—"

"And me!" added Hermione. She looked around at the three boys, all of whom had been raised in Wizarding families. "Right?" she asked uncertainly.

"Your mother's a special case, everyone knows that," began Draco. "She's like, the only Muggle-born my parents are on speaking terms with, and if you're not sensible of the honor that is—"

"Your father's a bigoted idiot," said Harry in disgust.

"How dare you, Potter! Unsay those vile words!"

"Then don't insult my mother!"

"Fine," Draco said sulkily. "You're just lucky my aunt's in prison."

"And you," said Harry, rounding on Neville. "How dare you insinuate that my stepfather has anything to do with whoever's trying to steal whatever Fluffy's guarding?"

"Well, who else could it be?" Neville complained. "I told you how my scar hurt when I saw him talking to Professor Quirrell!"

"So, if I were condoning the suspicion of teachers, which I'm not," began Hermione. "I would ask why you were convinced that, of the two, Professor Snape was the thief?"

"Well, it's not Quirrell," said Neville. "It can't be! Can it?"

Harry studied his companions thoughtfully. "I'm fairly certain Quirrell is the only new teacher this year…" he said, thinking aloud.

"That doesn't prove anything, though. It could be anyone—it could be McGonagall!" suggested Draco, grinning.

Hermione looked offended. "It is not McGonagall," she insisted, nose in the air. "And this discussion is pointless."

They didn't learn any relevant new information until after the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match—which Slytherin won by about twenty points. Harry and Draco both privately considered that, if either of them had been allowed on the team, Slytherin would have won by more than _that._ On the way back from the match, the four of them—Harry, Neville, Draco, and Hermione—ran into Hagrid, and he let slip their next clue. Really, Harry thought a little guiltily, it was laughably easy to maneuver Hagrid into giving away crucial pieces of information. Already, he knew the three-headed dog was called Fluffy and could be lulled to sleep with music (any genre). This would have been even more useful if he had any intention of going to the forbidden corridor, of course, but information was information.

And now they knew there was someone called Nicolas Flamel involved. Draco wanted to ask his father, but Harry vetoed that on the grounds that Mr. Malfoy, a member of the Board of Governors, would certainly want any mystery dealt with, and Dumbledore would smile enigmatically and not tell him anything, and the whole thing would end with Mr. Malfoy giving Severus a hard time because as Dumbledore's 'right-hand man' he could be expected to know all about it, and that would only lead to trouble…Harry thought about asking his mother, but Neville advised against it—

"We want to figure this out on our own," he argued. "Besides, Aunt Lily will never let us do any real investigating, and she might tell Gran."

Harry doubted his mother would sink so low as that—try as he might, he couldn't entirely like Nev's Gran—but agreed anyway. It would be more interesting to figure it out themselves, and besides, he'd never heard his mother, or Mr. Malfoy for that matter, mention anyone named Nicolas Flamel. Perhaps they'd never heard of him either.

So the four of them spent the weeks leading up to Christmas vainly looking for Flamel, on the premise that he had to be in the library _somewhere_. They still hadn't found him by Christmas vacation.

Everyone was going home, or so it seemed to Harry. Nev to his Gran, and Draco and Hermione to their parents…he was spending Christmas with his father. He was rather nervous about it, actually—he'd gotten several letters from Uncle Padfoot over the semester, but nothing—not one word!—from his own father, and that made him feel apprehensive, ashamed, and angry—angry at himself for feeling ashamed when he'd done nothing wrong, angry at his father for being angry that he was in Slytherin, and most of all—the part he would never admit—angry at his father for not being there. For leaving. He knew, of course, that it was his mother who had actually left, taking him with her—but somehow, that never seemed to matter. It was his father who had abandoned him, even if they did still see one another for holidays and every so often, and even though his mother was the one who'd _moved on_…

"Harry, my boy!" Uncle Padfoot was there, when he got off the train (his mother, stepfather and sisters had all wished him a good holiday before he left, and Draco had made him promise not to forget to surreptitiously examine everything of his father's for signs of Nicolas Flamel).

"Hey, Uncle Padfoot," Harry said absently. He returned his godfather's embrace, but his bright green eyes sought out his father.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, and Harry studied the face that looked so much like his own. James Potter's eyes were brown, though. He looked back at Harry steadily—

And then he smiled, and Harry knew it was going to be all right.

"Hey, Prongslet," James said, a little hoarsely. "Long time, no see."


	26. Family

Author's Notes: Sorry it took me so long to update! As always, the dialogue you recognize is from the books.

* * *

**Family**

James Ferdinand Potter laughed to scorn his fears when he saw his son's face, on the platform. What an idiot he'd been, thinking it would matter! But all the Slytherins he'd ever known had been evil—Voldemort, Snape, Sirius's cousin Bellatrix, Sirius's brother, Sirius's entire family, Snape, most of the rest of the Death Eaters, and _Snape_—and it was an easy mistake to make. His son, a Potter, in _Slytherin!_ When Lily's letter had first reached him, he couldn't believe it—such a thing had never happened before, _surely_—and then Harry had written him that one note, describing his first week, and then _nothing_, and Sirius said it was because he was too proud, like his father—

"Hey, Prongslet," he said at last. "Long time, no see." It was a ridiculous line, he supposed, but Harry shoved his trunk and his owl, Hedwig, at Sirius (who caught them deftly and without surprise) and hugged him; and James knew nothing important had really changed.

* * *

Christmas with Harry's father was nothing like Christmas with his mother. Lily gathered people around her, in a rather matriarchal way—every Christmas he could remember spending with her, there was Sev, of course, and whichever of his sisters had been born by that point, and Hagrid and Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore and Flitwick and Sinistra and Sprout and even Trelawney, on rare occasions—and whichever students were staying for the holidays. Lily always made them feel welcome, part of the family—and they usually confided all their problems to her before the end of the celebrations.

The only Christmas Harry could remember with both his parents, he'd been about two and a half, and Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony had been there—but all he could really remember was his mother's laugh and the clink of firewhiskey glasses and how much he'd wanted that new toy broomstick that flew several feet higher than his first one.

Christmas with his father used to be forlorn, but things had improved a lot when Jimmy was born. Jimmy was James's namesake—Sirius's son. He was about Fia's age, and as unlike his father, his mother, his godfather, James, or his other namesake, Uncle Remus, as it was possible to be. He was completely lacking in tragedy. In short, he was a cheerful, cute kid. Harry liked him.

Aunt Josephine wasn't too bad, either. Just weird. Really weird. Not that he'd expect anyone marrying Uncle Padfoot to be precisely normal, but Aunt Josephine…

* * *

On Christmas morning, Harry woke early and dug in to his presents. There was a drawing of him and his sisters, with love from Fia, a very short, illustrated story about a heroic first year named Harry from Dru, and some scribblings of Zuri's; some Christmas cake and a hand mirror with a note describing it as the safest, most secretive form of communication yet invented from his mother and Severus; _Quidditch Through the Ages_ from Sirius and _Hippogriff Breeding for Beginners _from Josephine; a polished moonstone from Jimmy, 'for luck'; Honeydukes chocolate from Remus; some Quidditch paraphernalia from Nev for the Montrose Magpies (their favorite team, although they also liked Puddlemere United); an intricate model of the solar system from Draco; some Chocolate Frogs from Hermione; and a package from his father that proved to contain—

"An Invisibility Cloak," Harry breathed in awe, looking down at the silvery material and the place where his hand, underneath the fabric, should have been. He set the Cloak down and reached for the note again. At first, he hadn't given it more than a cursory glance, but now he saw there was an explanation:

_Dear Harry_ [it read],

_Merry Christmas! This Cloak has been passed down in our family for generations. I don't know who originally found or created it, but I had Dumbledore look at it and he assures me it's a priceless heirloom. _

_I want you to know I trust you. I'm sorry I haven't always been around, and I hope you know I'll always be there when you need me. _

_Have fun with the Cloak! Sirius and I used it mostly for pranks, between you and me…_

_Love,_

_Dad_

Harry looked up from the note, marveling that he'd never heard about this before. It was amazing! An Invisibility Cloak handed down through generations…it had to be nearly unheard of! Usually, they wore out after awhile—curses, or just time—but this—! His eyes shone with excitement as he swung the Cloak around his shoulders, vanishing from sight. He peered down into the mirror his mother and Sev had given him, just to see his lack of reflection. He couldn't wait to use this!

Absently, he picked up a Chocolate Frog, allowing the Cloak to swing down into a shimmery silver heap on his bed. He unwrapped the candy, popped it into his mouth, and glanced at the back of the Wizard card.

A few moments later, he leapt toward Hedwig's cage, almost frantic. He snatched three envelopes from his desk, shoved the card into one of them, and opened Hedwig's cage.

"Listen, Hedwig, I need you to take this to Draco," he said hurriedly. "It's urgent." He rummaged through his Chocolate Frog card collection for a moment. "And this one goes to Neville, and this one is for Hermione. Okay? This is really important."

By dinner, Harry had almost forgotten the Chocolate Frogs. Christmas dinner with James was usually an experience. He still remembered the time his father had set the kitchen on fire and he'd had to call Uncle Moony in the neighbor's fire because James had had too much eggnog and couldn't remember how to send a silvery message. Those silvery messages confused Harry—always had—and he'd asked every adult he knew, including both Draco's parents and Neville's Gran, but they either didn't know or wouldn't tell him.

"Do you know if pudding should have two cups of sugar or three?" Jimmy asked Harry seriously.

Harry shrugged. "I have no idea. So you're making dinner?"

Jimmy grinned at him. "Of course not. I'm making dessert. Mom and Dad and Uncle Prongs and Uncle Moony are having another argument. And we're having guests this year, too—new people."

"New people?" Harry asked idly, picking up an orange and starting to peel it. "What new people?"

As if in answer to his question, there was a loud crash from upstairs. It sounded as though someone had knocked down Aunt Josephine's enameled shoe rack. "They're here!" cried Uncle Padfoot, dashing past the kitchen and toward the front door, looking frazzled.

"I hope the enamel isn't too chipped," sighed Aunt Josephine in a long-suffering way. She floated by Harry and Jimmy, holding the hem of her kimono up with one hand, and pushing her long, uncontrollable brown hair out of her eyes with the other.

Jimmy began stirring industriously as Harry's father passed, came back and looked at them (making sure they were presentable, Harry presumed) and headed toward the front door again. Uncle Moony came into the kitchen.

"How are you boys holding up?" he asked, smiling a tired smile. Harry would never understand why Uncle Moony looked so much older than his father and Uncle Padfoot. They were all the same age, after all.

"Who's coming to dinner?" asked Harry casually.

"Oh, just some old friends—you probably remember them," said Uncle Moony, waving a hand lightly.

At that moment, Harry's father, Uncle Padfoot, Aunt Josephine, and three new people came in. The kitchen was getting rather crowded, and (Harry reflected) there was going to be a serious problem if all they had to eat was Jimmy's pudding. One of the new people looked like a female version of Uncle Padfoot, although her hair and eyes were a bit more brownish, and she was probably a little older. This was Aunt Andromeda. She was not, in any literal sense, Harry's aunt, but when he'd called her Mrs. Tonks she'd insisted that was much too formal for her favorite cousin's godson. Her husband, Mr. Tonks, had told Harry (and everyone else, as far as Harry could tell) to call him Ted, and her daughter, Nymphadora, told everyone, on pain of death (or something dire) to call her Tonks. Tonks was the most interesting of the three guests, to Harry's mind; for one thing, she could change her appearance, and most of the time she had pink hair; and for another, she was seven years older than he was, and officially an adult.

"So, Nymphadora—" began Aunt Josephine much later, once she and Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony had somehow miraculously made dinner—Harry suspected them of magicking it out of thin air—and they were all sitting down at Harry's father's large wooden table. It was, Harry supposed, slightly odd that they'd made the food in his father's kitchen, rather than Harry and James having to do all the work, but then, his father and Uncle Padfoot treated each others' houses as their own at all times, to such an extent that, from when he was three to when he was six, Harry had actually thought Uncle Padfoot's house _was_ his father's house.

"It's Tonks," said Tonks forcefully, barely modulating her tone at all for politeness.

Aunt Josephine ignored the interruption. "—what are you doing now that you've graduated Hogwarts? You know I'll put in a good word for you at the stable, if you ever need a job."

Aunt Andromeda frowned. Harry guessed she didn't approve of hippogriff breeding. After all, neither did Draco's parents, and they were supposed to be the height of society, according to Draco (and the _Daily Prophet_, interestingly). Aunt Andromeda had more in common with them than she seemed to think.

Tonks laughed. "Thanks, but no thanks, Josephine. I'm training to be an Auror."

An Auror! Harry looked at Tonks with new respect. She was going to be an_ Auror! _Out of all the things he'd thought about doing when he grew up—Experimental Charms tester, professional Quidditch player—an Auror headed the list. It wasn't like he was going to go into business, like his father, or be a teacher, like Sev. No way. An Auror…

* * *

Harry was still thinking about Tonks and being an Auror several weeks later, when he got back on the train for Hogwarts. It had been a good holiday—his father had really cheered up enormously ever since Jimmy was born, of course, and having Tonks and her parents over seemed to have done him good. Harry didn't want to have to worry about his father, but sometimes, he couldn't seem to help it. James was so brave, and the best father in the world, of course; but he did have a tendency not to understand when people were dishonest, or why it wasn't okay for him to insult Sev in front of Harry. Harry really didn't want to hear it. The last thing he needed was to get involved in his parents' issues, and although it cost him something to admit, he knew his mother was happy with Sev. So it didn't really make sense for his father to rake up old grievances—and it wasn't as though Harry hadn't been compelled to be polite to a succession of his father's girlfriends. Mostly, they were loud and boring and blonde, and they always said he was "just too adorable for words!" and then started telling his father just how adorable he was, because they were smart enough to know James could never hear enough praise of Harry.

Being an Auror seemed like a great idea to Harry—an adventure, and fighting evil at the same time—but he resolved not to mention it to his mother. The last time he'd told her he was going to be an Auror, she'd burst out crying. Sev had taken him aside and explained that his mother had lost two very close friends of hers who were Aurors during the war. This had not changed Harry's mind, but it had worried him.

"Hey, Harry!" cried Hermione Granger, racing up to him out of a train compartment. "How was your holiday?" she demanded breathlessly. She'd stopped right in front of him, visually restraining herself from hugging him.

"Great," answered Harry absently. "Did you get what I sent you?"

"Yes, and I think you're—" Hermione began. Harry grabbed her arm and propelled them both into her compartment, shutting the door behind them. "—absolutely right," she finished, glaring at him. "I know how to be discreet, you know."

"No Gryffindor does," Harry replied, grinning. "You haven't seen Nev or Draco?"

"Here we are!" cried Draco, opening the door again and posing on the threshold, smiling. He looked as though he expected applause. Neville hung back slightly, grinning.

"Did you get—" Harry started.

"Of course," said Neville and Draco together.

"Good job, Harry," Neville added. Harry grinned at the three of them, glad to be reunited with his friends.

He didn't grin much over the next several weeks. The teachers were already talking about exams, Dumbledore's collaborator Nicolas Flamel (from the Chocolate Frog card) had made something called the Sorcerer's Stone which granted eternal life and endless riches—Draco had asked, half-seriously, "who wouldn't want that?"—and they were no closer to stopping whoever it was. Neville was convinced whoever it was wanted to kill him, but there didn't seem to be any proof. Harry had the uncomfortable suspicion Nev only thought that because he still suspected Sev, which was ridiculous. And, for some strange reason, Quirrell seemed to be afraid of his turban.

Then, one night when he was exploring under the Invisibility Cloak, he wandered into an empty classroom—he was never sure exactly why. It wasn't exactly empty, though—there was a full-length mirror propped against one wall. Harry spared a thought for how odd this was, but then he was standing in front of it, and suddenly he wasn't alone or invisible—

Two people stood behind his reflection, their arms around one another's waists. They were smiling, and the woman's free hand rested on Harry's reflection's shoulder. Instantly, Harry knew what he was seeing, just as he knew it couldn't really be happening. He glanced behind him just to make sure, but the room was still—although he had the oddest sense that there had been something in motion just before he turned around. Now there was nothing to see.

He looked back at the mirror, and there they were again—his mother and father, reconciled, together, and loving him. The three of them were a family again, as they hadn't been since he was three years old. He reached out a longing hand for the mirror, and his reflection grinned cockily and reached out too; and he saw that this Harry wore a red and gold Gryffindor scarf, and recoiled in horror.

That one second's antipathy toward the mirror allowed reality to come rushing back, and Harry told himself not to be ridiculous; the mirror couldn't show the future, not with him wearing a Gryffindor scarf and being no older than he was now. And it oughtn't to, anyway. He knew that, knew down to his bones that what he'd seen was not something that should happen, at least not now; his mother was happy with Sev, and his father—well, his father wasn't really happy with any of his blonde girlfriends, but he was happy with Uncle Padfoot, and that counted for something, surely. And anyway, if his parents got back together his sisters would be in the same position he was—parents split up, forced to spend holidays with one parent and the rest of the time with the other, having two different homes at least and still feeling out of place everywhere…

Harry felt guilt weigh down upon him, because he wanted this disruptive vision anyway. How could he want something that would make people he loved miserable? And how did this mirror work, anyway? He wrenched his eyes from his parents—he knew they loved him, that he wasn't the reason they'd split up, but he couldn't help longing for the calm certainty of his glass counterpart—and examined the mirror's golden frame.

He found the words, _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi,_ carved around the top, and at once set himself to deciphering them. At first he made no headway—were they some sort of code, or foreign language? If so, it was none he'd ever learned. At last he copied them out on a spare piece of parchment, to show Hermione, and was about to leave, sadly wrenching himself from his happily married parents, when he glanced back and saw the piece of parchment reflected in the mirror—he was no longer standing directly in front, so he just saw his own image. The words made a lot more sense, viewed thus. "I-show-not-your-face-but-your-heart's-desire," he read slowly, carefully. "Of course!"

It all made sense; he felt ashamed that his heart's desire was to see his parents happily married and loving him together, like a proper family. It was unjust to Sev, and downright cruel to Fia, Dru and Zuri—nonetheless, it was how he felt and the sooner he could make peace with that the better. He resolved never to reveal it to any of his family. With a last rueful glance around, he headed back toward the Slytherin dormitory, all desire for exploration of the castle he'd grown up in lost.

The next day, he told his friends about the experience, even showing them the mirror's warning. He was careful to leave out what his heart's desire actually was. "So if you guys want to see it…" he trailed off, waiting.

Draco shook his head. "Uh-uh—I don't want to know my heart's desire."

Harry looked at his friend, surprised. "Why not?"

Draco shrugged. "It wouldn't be any use to me, would it? I'd have to start scheming to get whatever it was, which would be a lot of work most likely, and then what? Looks like Nicolas Flamel got his heart's desire, and now what does he do? Probably takes all the fun out of life." Harry wondered if the reason Draco gave was the true one. Perhaps he already knew his heart's desire.

"Well, I'm not going, and you shouldn't, either!" put in Hermione. "Really, Harry, that sort of thing is dangerous! And, what if Filch catches you? You'll be in so much trouble!"

"But you won't mind that," said Draco swiftly. "Don't tell me you'd cry over Slytherin losing House points."

Hermione scowled at him.

"I'll go," said Neville quietly. Harry gave him a sharp look, but nodded.

That night he met Neville outside the Gryffindor portrait hole and threw the Invisibility Cloak over them both. They made their stealthy way to the abandoned classroom—they saw Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, but she simply gave them a feline glare and moved on. At last, they reached the mirror, and Harry took off the Cloak. Neville moved cautiously in front of the mirror.

Watching him, Harry felt absurdly privileged; the longing and loneliness in Nev's face was so heart wrenching, he knew what his friend saw before he spoke. "My parents," whispered Neville hoarsely.

Harry reached out a comforting hand, knowing how painful this had to be. Then—

"So—back again, boys?"

Harry and Neville turned, Harry thinking how absurd such an assertion was—this was only his second trip to the mirror, after all, and Neville's first. Albus Dumbledore sat perched against a desk, watching them.

No one spoke for a long moment.

"So," said Dumbledore, standing up, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"Yes," said Neville simply, looking haggard.

"I suppose you've realized what it does," said Dumbledore encouragingly.

"Well, yes, the information is right on it," said Harry, with difficulty concealing most of his exasperation.

"It doesn't show the future, or the present, really," sighed Neville. "It's like a trap."

"Yes, this mirror gives us neither knowledge nor truth," agreed Dumbledore. He gave the two boys a piercing look. "Tomorrow it will be moved to a new home, and I ask that you not go looking for it again. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."

Harry and Neville nodded, grateful to escape punishment, and left. They didn't discuss the Mirror Incident again, though Harry found it uncomfortably difficult to forget.


End file.
